The Rose and the Nightingale
by Omega Devin
Summary: AU, EC: A retelling of Erik and Christine's story, set in the rosy hours of Mazenderan, with a fantasy twist. Love shall not be denied.
1. Chapter One: Mask of Shadows

**Author's Note:** _Phantom of the Opera_ and its said characters belong to Gaston Leroux, Susan Kay, Andrew Lloyd Webber, Warner Brother Studios, and whoever else happens to have a piece of the rights. It sure as hell ain't me.

So…I suppose I really need to clear some things before you read on. You can skip this part if you want, but please, don't leave me nasty reviews saying how this fic is ridiculous, that it makes no sense, blah, blah, blah.

First note, and this is very important: This is very much an _alternate universe_ fan fiction. That means that timelines have become putty in my hands, and I can mold them to my will. The general idea of this story is a relatively loose re-telling of Erik's stay in Persia, only this time, Christine's been added as well. Even more so, it has been given a fantasy twist, which was heavily inspired by the movie _Howl's Moving Castle_. This isn't hard-core fantasy like that seen in Harry Potter and other such books, but is rather more subtle, even though it's still very much there. Think Phantom mixed with Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast meets Hayao Miazaki.

Before anyone questions the age of the two, Erik's a little older than he originally was in Persia, about around the age of twenty-three or twenty-four. Christine's seventeen years old. I'm not sure if this will stay on Christine's POV or not, either. If it does, the character speaking will be mentioned at the beginning of each chapter.

Perhaps I'm being too paranoid about this. There have been more extreme variations done to this story before, right? Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy it.

Also note, this fic may or may not be finished, but if you look under my profile, you'll see a strong trend; I tend to _not_ finish what I start. But if the idea is there, then I might as well go with it while I can. I just hope I can contribute something to the Phantom community during my visit.

A million thanks to my beta, OritPetra, who was an absolute dear to offer to beta this fic for me.

The Rose and the Nightingale

By Omega Devin

Chapter One

Mask of Shadows

-Christine-

_Have you ever heard the legend of the white rose and the nightingale?_

Although I grew up with fairy tales and stories of romance and mystery – all of which my father told me – that even though we lived in a world of magic in its many forms, the legend of the white rose and the nightingale had gone completely unknown to me.

…until I went to Persia.

Until I met…_him._

There are many types of magic in the world. That was one of the first things that I could ever remember my father telling me. There was the magic that was used for entertainment and pleasure, magic that could heal, even magic that could lift the soul to heights that one could never think possible. There was even a darker, more dangerous magic that was not to be spoken of on lighter terms. But, nonetheless, magic was the greatest of God's gifts to His children, even if there were the rare few who only ever had the special talent to use it.

But of all the types of magic in the world, there was none that could match the power and splendor that music brought to the world. The most marvelous of God's gifts, my father had always told me that although music could be heard by all, it was only in special individuals in which is actually lived, where it grew into something far more radiant than mist people could ever hope to understand. Music was as real as any magic, but it was a magic that could by shared by everyone, not by the few select few in the world that "real" magic seemed to favor.

My father was one of the lucky souls born with music flowing through his blood, and it was that same gift that was passed down to me. Oh, the times we would have, lost in the euphoria that music would bring us, even during the hardest times of our lives. Even though there were those who would have called my childhood "difficult" or "unfortunate", I never thought of it being such. As long as I was with my father, and he had his violin to play with my voice to sing to it, then all was right in the world.

That all seemed like a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was. Ever since my dear Papa died, ever since I was sent to live with my mother's dreadful sister-in-law and her family, everything in life had taken a dreary, grey turn for the worse. I was sent from my homeland of Switzerland to live in Paris, where magic was reserved only for the privileged. Magicians, who were so free to do as they pleased up north, were no better than pets to perform tricks for their masters and their guests.

When my father died, he took his music with him, and the same music that we shared died along with him. Once I was content with life. Now I was nothing more than an empty shell of my original self, without magic, without music, and no longer with the sight to see and appreciate the true beauty of the world.

Being dragged to Persia against my will did nothing to help my situation either.

But that was all before I met Erik.

It was the year of 1851 that I arrived, regrettably at the time, in Persia with my then guardians; my horrid aunt-by-marriage, her new husband, and her three daughters. My new uncle-by-marriage was busy with trade relations with the shah, whom I only knew to be the king of Persia.

So, there I was, in a foreign land with foreign customs and foreign religion, with my aunt by marriage (she was the sister-in-law of my mother, who was estranged by her family when she ran off to marry my father), her new husband (after my mother's brother died of pneumonia not more than three years ago), and her three daughters, Gisele, Francine, and Nicola.

My initial impression of Persia when I first stepped out of the carriage was one of indifference and apathy. Even in this strange and foreign land, the royal city of Tehran was hardly any different than Paris, which, at the time, served as my current home, ever since my father died five years back. The poverty, for instance, was the same. Some would argue that the poor of Paris lived in splendor compared to the filthy, diseased masses that crowded the gutters and ally ways of the mud-brick city, but how do you compare one street rat to another? Poverty was poverty, no matter where you were in the world, and, just like anywhere else, was vastly overshadowed by the towering edifices built upon wealth, greed, and corruption that served as the royal palaces of the small, elite upper class. And, just like Paris, the fate of the people were dictated by the cruel indifference of their lords, who spent half of their time squandering their wealth, and the other half playing a dark, dangerous game of blackmail that ended in betrayal, bankruptcy, and sometimes even the arrest of their most loathed threats and advisories.

Although, I do understand that in Persia, they skip the political affairs and move straight to the accusation, the torture, and then an execution. But that was a side that I would have rather not dealt with. My time in Persia with my loathsome relatives was going to be hell enough without the horrors of the public executions and tortures hanging over my head. Forgive my bitterness, but after spending a nearly two months on a small, merchant ship and then days upon days within a small servant's carriage through the harsh Persian terrains, I felt as if I had a perfectly justified excuse to be irritable.

It turned out that not only were my uncle and the shah trade partners, but they also turned out to be childhood friends of sorts, dating back from when their own fathers had a trade relation, so I knew that this by no means was going to be a short visit. I wasn't the only one unhappy about the voyage, though. None of the other women in the family were happy about it at first either – it was perhaps the only thing my distant family and I ever seemed to agree on, something which was remarkable in itself, seeing how they normally treated me like some nasty insect found under a rock in the gardens – but as soon as my cousins discovered that they were treated like royalty by the servants of the shah's palace without anyone saying otherwise, their complaining ceased immediately.

I, however, was not to share in this new found spoiling, nor would I have taken pleasure in it had I decided to indulge myself on the hospitality of our guests. Material goods never had much meaning to me. Long ago…back when I still enjoyed living…my father had taught me that the most beautiful things in life were not expressed in gold and jewels and silks, but rather in means that could not be touched, nor owned, nor could be worn on a chain around your neck. The rising of the sun, the rainbow that appeared after a rainstorm were those beauties that he spoke of, those beauties which could be seen by all, but owned by no one.

Magic, and music, were two of the most intangible of these beauties. But ever since my father died, I had lost that beauty in the world, and never regained the strength to find them again on my own. My life was as bland as a cold, gray winter day in Paris.

"Oh, for pity's sake, Christine, I do wish you would stop pouting." came a whiny voice from behind, digging me out of the sulk I had unconsciously fallen into. "It's so depressing."

I turned away from the wide window with its grand view over the royal garden, looking towards my oldest cousin. Gisele was sprawled lazily across one of the velvet divans that occupied the spacious and luxurious quarters that we were sharing during our stay in Persia. Two dark-skinned servants awaited her every beck and call; one was holding a tray that contained what I was sure was some of Persia's strange and strong tea, and the other held a gilded bowl full of plump green grapes and juicy figs. Out of the three of my cousins, leave it Gisele to milk our host's hospitality for all it was worth.

"Excuse me for raining on your parade, Gisele, but it looks like you're enjoying our stay here enough for the both of us."

Gisele smirked at me, the ugly gesture doing nothing to mar her perfect red lips. She plucked another fat grape out of the bowl, and the servant remained to stand as still as a statue. "Ah yes, I keep forgetting that this is a little over-the-top for you. Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable gallivanting about on the streets for a couple of hours. At least you would be among your own again."

Had we been back in Paris, I would more than likely had risen to her provocation, but the day was still hot, and I was in no mood, nor had the energy to come up with a decent comeback, so I let her words slide past me like water. If Persia itself wasn't miserable enough, the humidity made it unbearable, especially in the thick cotton dresses and confining corsets that I had to wear. Perhaps Gisele had the right idea, lounging around on a chaise all day, expending as little energy as possible to keep cool.

Instead of retaliating to her challenge, like I knew she was expecting me to, I returned my attention once again to the window and beyond. From here, I was given a clear view of the royal gardens. Out of everything I had yet experienced in this unfamiliar country, the gardens were the one thing that I was able to find the most enjoyment in. They were nothing like the meticulously kept gardens of Paris, where the trimmed bushes and flowerbeds were contained in brick planters centered around a fountain or paved walkway. These gardens were their own wilderness, like the exotic forests that surrounding the city -- forests of lush trees overtaken by tamed creepers and brightly colored flowers as large as dinner plates. And the birds…! The numbers of tropical birds within those gardens and the music they made! I had not seen true magic in this place since I arrived, but being in the gardens was the closest I got to the real thing since my father died.

The trees below me swayed gently in the warm afternoon breeze that did nothing to ease the heat, and a couple of bright red birds took flight from one branch to another. Perhaps I would go for a walk before dinner, to get my mind off of…well, whatever it was it happened to be on. I found myself wandering aimlessly through my thoughts more and more lately, but that was probably for the best. At least it would keep me from dwelling on any one thing in particular. At least I would be getting some fresh air in the process. Anything would be better than sitting up here, festering in this gilded chamber of white marble with my overly spoiled cousin.

Just as I was about to get up and leave for my walk, another movement below caught my attention. There was someone already in the garden. This would not had been something that would have caught my interest at any other time, but there was something about the person below my window that held it with rapt attention.

Standing in the gardens below was a young man – perhaps no older than his mid twenties, from what I could tell, but it was hard to tell from the height I was at – dressed all in heavy black robes despite the sweltering heat of the Persian afternoon. Longish, ashy-blown hair was swept into a ponytail at the base of his neck, bound by a black silk ribbon. What particularly caught my attention was his face…or, rather, what I could see of it. Most of it was covered with a flawless white mask that covered his whole face except for his mouth and chin, giving him a very cold, very inhuman look.

Time seemed to stand still as my world melted away and the whole of my focus remained on the man below me. He paused, unmoving, then lifted a long arm, holding one long, skeleton-like hand out before him – God, I had never seen hands like his before – and remained perfectly still until a single brilliantly blue bird came to perch on those spider-like fingers. Everything about him…his appearance, the way he moved…it was like…like…

Oh God, I didn't even know how to describe him.

The bird on his fingers flew off once again, but instead of continuing on his way, the man paused a moment longer, then turned his attention up to me, as if he had known I was up there the entire time I had been watching him. The sun glinted off something gold on his mask, about where the eyes would have been, and for a moment I wondered how he was able to see…

Until I realized it was _his_ eyes I was looking at, and not a part of his mask.

Time stood still as our eyes locked, my breath seizing in my throat. It felt as if the air had been charged by an electric bolt, making the hairs on the back of my arms stand on end, thickening the air around me. Had I not known what it was, the sensation would have frightened me, but I knew what it was, what this unmistakable feeling was…

_There was magic within those eyes, within his soul…_

A thin, if not tight smile crossed his lips, a smile that did not quite reach his eyes, and he bowed shallowly up to me.

Then I blinked, and he was gone.

For a very long couple of moments, I continued to stand there, staring blankly out the window to the spot where the young man had been. Had I even seen him at all, or had I imagined him? Was this miserable Persian heat finally beginning to take its toll on me?

Somewhere behind me, I heard Gisele snigger. "You look like a great, ugly bullfrog with your mouth hanging open like that, Christine. It you're not careful, a bug will fly right in." I had not realized that my cousin had come up behind me until she was right over my shoulder. "What are you looking at that could be so interesting?"

"I…I just thought I saw someone down there…"

"Really, Christine, you are a simple creature."

"I didn't mean just anyone! He was…he was wearing a mask…"

Gisele snorted, clearly unimpressed. I should have known that she would not have found a man in a strange mask to be terribly exciting. In fact, the only time she ever really took an interest in anyone was when they displayed their wealth in the form of fine silk, eloquent suits or an array of gold and precious jewels that they wore on their being.

But I could also not help but to think that maybe I should have adopted Gisele's outlook on the man. This was Persia, after all. While you would have never seen anyone wearing a mask on the streets of Paris, perhaps it was only another fashion of the noble blood in this land. I had seen stranger since I've been here…

But not by much.

Besides, I could not help but to think back to the way he moved, those graceful yet skeletal hands, and those strange golden eyes…

"Well, there's no one there now, so come away from there. We're supposed to have dinner with Seth and the Shah tonight. We can't embarrass him by arriving late."

I turned away from the window again, a small sneer on my lips that Gisele either did not notice or chose to ignore. "Why should you be worried? You'd just end up blaming me regardless."

My older cousin shrugged indifferently. "Yes, you're probably right, but I'm really not in the mood to sit through another one of Mother's lectures tonight. I'm sure you'd agree with me. So, you can either stay here, and wait for your imaginary friend to return, or do yourself a favor by doing something right for a change."

I did not even bother to dignify her with a response as I brushed past her, bumping not-so-gently into her shoulder as I passed, leaving the grand marble chamber and making my way down the expansive halls to the servant's quarters. The few possessions that I owned that came with me were not kept in the same room I was staying in while at the palace, but rather with Rosie, who was one of the maids who worked for my aunt in her Paris manner. I was actually relieved when my aunt decided to bring Rosie with us on our journey, even if it was only to lace up our corsets and perform other such small tasks which my aunt was sure no one in Persia knew how to do. The old woman was the only one I could really confine in since my father died, and had always been there for me as a shoulder to cry on with a kind word to ease my anxieties. She was my only real friend in the world.

Rosie was working intently on her needle-point when I entered the small servant chamber she was put up in, on the bottom level of the Shah's palace close to the vast kitchens and stables. The room was surprisingly small compared to the sheer size of the rest of the palace but was really no different than the quarters she and the other servants lived in back in Paris. I knocked politely before entering, and when she turned her gray, withered head towards my direction a smile lit up her whole face.

"Christine, dear." There was a surprising amount of strength and confidence to her voice, which seemed out of place to her otherwise frail appearance. "I was beginning to think I wasn't going to see you today."

"I'm sorry, Rosie." I said with a small pang of guilt. Ever since I had arrived in Paris and Rosie took me under her maternal wing, I had made a point to visit the old woman at least once a day. I think being in each other's company did us both more good than we would probably ever know or realize. "The time just got away from me today."

Rosie waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, pish posh, no harm done. I assume that you've been spending the day exploring. If I were younger, I know that's what I would be doing."

I nod absently, putting on a fake smile for the sole sake of old woman. I hated when she worried about me, which I knew she did enough on her own without my unhappy person hovering about her. But I should have known better than to think I could fool her. Rosie had the talent of seeing through me like crystal. She smiled gently at me. "What's wrong?"

"Oh….nothing."

"Not in that tone of voice, it isn't. Is it Gisele? Has she been giving you grief again?"

"No…well..." What was the point? No matter what excuses I came up with, Rosie would see through them all. I sighed in resignation. "No more than usual. It's nothing to fret over."

Rosie frowned, deepening the lines around her mouth as she set down her needle-point before trying to raise to her feet in her usual still way. "Oh, Christine, dear…I do wish you wouldn't let her walk all over you like that."

I shrugged. "She doesn't. I've just taken to ignoring her. Besides, she wants me to defend myself. It's only a sign that she's winning. It was only for a few minutes today, though. This place is so big it's easy to avoid her, so I have more patience to deal with her when I do have to see her. Same goes for dear aunty Celest."

Rosie nodded wisely. "Perhaps that is all for the best."

"It would have to be. I'm supposed to have dinner with them and the shah at the end of the hour."

"Well, then, I supposed we should get you ready for that then, shall we?"

I pulled a face. "Do I have to go?"

"Unless you would rather face the wrath of the Mistress and her master for embarrassing them, which you know they would be if you didn't. Now, undress."

Rosie helped me out of the masses of layers of my sparrow-brown dress, the cooling evening air of Persia a welcomed relief compared to the weight of all the fabric. When I had first arrived in Persia, I was slightly taken aback by the way some of these women dressed…or rather, the lack of clothing they wore! Not even the whores of Paris dared to reveal that much skin while out on the streets. But, as time wore on and I spent my days sweltering in layers upon layers of cotton and wool, I was beginning to think that perhaps these women, in their silken braziers and sheer, billowing trousers, probably had the right idea. Of course, the idea of me walking around in such a thing was just as shocking, and I could not help the blush in my cheeks whenever I thought about it.

Besides, who was I trying to impress, anyway?

Rosie ran a quick bath for me in a small, traditional European-style bathtub while I waited in a bathrobe. The water was refreshingly cool, washing away the layer of sweat and grime I was sure had accumulated on me. Although I was well old enough to be able to wash my hair by myself, Rosie's natural maternal instinct implored that she did it for me, even if it was only every now and again. I knew that she was married once, and that she had a daughter who died when she was twelve from tuberculosis whom she missed terribly. I had no complains as she relived those days by scrubbing fingers through my soaped hair. It was a welcomed gesture for myself, as well, one of the few times when I felt truly relaxed, and all was right in the world.

After I was out of the bathtub and properly dried, Rosie helped me re-dress, including lacing up my god-forsaken corset and into a dress of pale-blue cotton. Although I truly did not care any which way, I knew that Gisele and my Aunt Celest were appalled when they learned that the servants of the Shah implored that they not wear silk, especially during the day. But when they learned how confining and hot silk became in the Persian heat, they stopped complaining immediately.

By the time Rosie was arranging my hair into neat ringlets that would fall around my face, a soft knock came at the door. "Come in," Rosie mumbled around a mouthful of pins.

The door opened by a crack, and my second-oldest cousin, Francine, stuck her head in. Francine looked more like her father – my mother's brother – than she did her own mother. One could almost see the family relation between us, even though her eyes were blue instead of my boring brown, her hair was perhaps a bit straighter, and even at the age of fourteen, she still retained her chubby, baby-like appearance in her face and limbs. She also took after her birth father more than Gisele could ever hope to accomplish. While Gisele was spoiled, bossy, and in her own means, cruel, Francine was quieter, kinder and more soft-spoken, but lacked the backbone needed to stand up to her older sister. Out of my three cousins, four-year-old Nicola included, Francine was perhaps my favorite.

"Mother sent me to fetch Christine." Francine squeaked, her voice barely audible. "Dinner's almost ready, and the Shah doesn't like to be kept waiting."

From behind me, I could almost feel Rosie roll her eyes. "That man's no more fit to be a king than a flea. I wouldn't be surprised if he still had a wet nurse to attend to him." I could not help but giggle, even though I was not sure if there was any validity behind Rosie's words. Tonight would be the first night I would see the Shah of Persia in the flesh. From where she stood at the door, Francine turned a deathly shade of white, as if she was afraid someone would overhear Rosie's words and go running off to tattle to the Shah on us. I would not doubt that was yet another false belief that Gisele stuck in her sister's head to keep her in line.

"Well, then.," Rosie continued, pinning up the last stray tendril of my unruly hair with a pin. "You shouldn't keep _his Majesty_ waiting. Run along, the both of you. And Christine, don't let your aunt or cousin get the opportunity to get under your skin tonight."

"Oh, I won't." I said nonchalantly, smoothing my skirts out as I stood up from the stool I had been seated on while Rosie did my hair. "They'll be so obsessed with trying to make a good impression on the Shah that they probably won't even know I'm there. I don't know why they'd even bother dragging me along in the first place."

"I really with you and Mother and Gisele would try to get along better." Francine said meekly as we made our way down the expansive hallways towards the Shah's chambers, where dinner was to be held. "It would make things so much easier at home."

"I'll treat them with decency as soon as they decided to show me some of their own." I retorted, trying not to vent my annoyance on Francine. The last thing I needed was another enemy in this family, even if poor, timid Francine had the courage of a dormouse.

The chamber that Francine led me back to was large enough to fit both my aunt's manor _and_ the grounds within its confinement. The large domed ceiling, inscribed from stone to stone in elegant gold leaf calligraphy, was supported by massive pillars as thick as trees, and just as tall. Lush colored pillows covered the floor, surrounding a low table arranged in a horse-shoe shape. And the cats! There were cats everywhere, and they were simply some of the most beautiful animals I had ever seen. I was rather fond of cats, and any other time, I probably would have been overjoyed at the sight of so many, but at that moment I could not find the energy to even smile. Ever since my father died, everything that once held any joy from me had been extinguished.

Sitting at the center of the table arrangement was my aunt and her new husband, whom were sitting next to a young, handsome Persian dressed in extravagant robes and jewelry. Although I had never seen him before, I could tell that this was the Shah of Persia, and yet I could not bring myself to feel impressed by the most powerful man in the country.

Note on the word "man". Based upon the rumors that I heard floating around the palace walls, his mother, the khanum of Persia, was by far more intimidating and powerful than her son could ever hope to be. Perhaps that was why she was ever only spoke of in such hushed whispers. I could not help but to feel slightly relieved when I recalled someone saying that she hardly ever left her private chambers, and therefore would not be joining her son and his guests for dinner.

Francine took her seat next to Gisele, looking down at the plate in front of her meekly. Nicola, my youngest cousin, was seated in between her oldest sister and her mother. At only five years old, she was completely oblivious to the importance that this dinner served to her new stepfather, but she was a well-behaved child, and wasn't one to cause much of a fuss about anything, so long as she had her favorite stuffed toy with her at all times. I knew full well what hell there was to pay if that toy ever left her sight.

I sat next to Francine, a welcomed one person distance from Gisele and myself. I should have known better than to think that Gisele would try anything to make me embarrass myself or my family during the dinner and not avoid drawing attention to herself, but it would be one less worry on my mind for the course of this very intense dinner.

For the most part, the dinner was uneventful, and rather boring. Ever since I arrived in Persia, my appetite was not as it should had been, so I was left with picking at all the strange, exotic foods set before me, listening to the snippets of conversation between my aunt, her husband and the shah. Further down the table, the man whom I understood to be the grand vizier to the shah was speaking to several of the men who followed him, but I could not hear, much less understand, what it was they were speaking of. A tall, darkly handsome man in his late twenties or so stood at the shah's side, wearing a sort of uniform that I could vaguely relate to a police uniform. Every now and then, the shah would ask the man a question, and the man would answer in obedience, only to sigh in resignation when his master turned his attention elsewhere. The stony, despondent look on his face reflected how I felt almost perfectly.

Dinner was at last cleared away and dessert took its place; a colorful array of succulent-looking sweets, tea and coffee that still, despite how delicious they all looked, held no appeal to me. As I let a sleek black cat lick sherbet from my fingers, the shah suddenly hailed all focus to him, keeping the attention of his guests out of obedience rather than respect. He spoke in his native language, so I stopped paying attention – what was the point if you could not understand? – and when his announcement was complete, I was curious to the mixed reaction of the dinner guests. Most of the people within the chamber looked pleased, and maybe even a little excited, while the grand vizier and his attendants suddenly looked surly and extremely displeased. Before I could wonder what the cause of these reactions were, a cloaked figure stepped out from the shadows – how long had he been there? Why had I only just noticed him? – and moved with cat-like grace to the center of the chamber.

My breath caught in my throat, and I fought to not choke. It was him! The masked man that I had seen in the gardens below my window! I knew I hadn't been dreaming, because he was right here, right now, standing in the middle of the grand room, commanding – no, demanding – all attention on him with a power that the shah could never hope to attain. Standing before us, I could now appreciate how tall he was, how graceful he looked, even when he was standing perfectly still as the shah spoke to him, the light from the torches and gaslights reflecting eerily off his flawless porcelain mask. There was an almost otherworldly quality to him, something that was almost…beyond human…

When the Shah was finished speaking, the man bowed, and spoke a single word that I could not understand.

…God, his voice! Did I really hear as I thought I just heard? Was it possible for anyone's voice to be that beautiful? Surely I must have heard wrong, and yet that voice lingered on, like a bell tolling with subtle magnificence in my head…

What followed was the most extravagant magician's show I had ever seen. This was far beyond even the magic shows I had seen while my father and I were traveling with the carnivals in Sweden and Norway. While there was true magic involved, there were even some tricks and illusions that still required mirrors and smoke to complete them. This, however, this was nothing more than magic in its raw form, wielded by someone who had the talent flowing through his veins as if it were his lifeblood.

It was a spectacle of lights and feats that boggled the human mind. During the display, I could not help my foolish grin of excitement, clapping my hands like a child. I had known there was real magic within him as soon as I saw him in the garden. He took one of the Shah's cats and with a swish of his cloak, he turned it into a flock of doves, and not a more than a moment later the cat crawled it's way out from under the grand vizier's robes. A bouquet of lilies at the table at the table suddenly erupted into a shower of multi-colored sparks that scattered along the floor. Fire jumped from torch to torch, chasing around the vast chamber until it jumped back to him and rested in his hand, a tame ball of flame that when it cooled, the most perfect red rose was left in his long spidery hand. Gasps of astonishment filled the chamber, and even the grand vizier, who had looked so displeased at the beginning of the act, looked the slightest bit impressed, even if there was no respect involved. The masked man paused in his act, oblivious to the praise around him, looking thoughtfully at the rose in his hand. Then he turned his eyes to our side of the table, those strange golden eyes sweeping over my family…

To finally fall on me. Once again, I found myself holding my breath. _Did he remember me from earlier?_

There was no smile as he bowed to me once more, no emotion to betray what he was thinking, as he held out his hand and the rose floated over to me. I swallowed nervously as the rose came to a silent stop before me, suspended in the air, waiting until I finally, cautiously, reached out to accept it. The rose was real, its petals soft as silk as its delicate scent washed over me. I looked back up at him, to smile at him in thanks, but he was looking away from me, back at the shah, who was speaking to him in the strange native tongue of Persia once more.

Dessert had been removed from the table during the performance, and so I assumed that with dinner over, the performance would be over as well, until an unearthly…no, heavenly sound…reached me ears that took me a moment to realize as singing. Not only was it the most divine sound I had ever heard, but it was coming from…_him._ The song of the seraphs, the voice of heaven itself, coming from the throat of this strange man who commanded magic as naturally as a normal person would breath air.

As the song continued, the further and further away I drifted from myself…I was no longer in Persia, I was no longer within my own body…

_Instead, I was back at that little house by the sea, sitting beside the hearth at my father's feet, listening to his stories as he played his violin…_

It was the tears flowing down my face that pulled me back to the here and now, and the unnamable, crushing emotions weighing down on my chest.

_Why…why was this happening? _Why was I crying? Was it his song? His voice? That angelic voice that made me think of my father and the way life once was? The life that I once adored, when I was happy?

"Christine?" I felt a small hand on my arm. I looked over to see Francine looking up at me. Even through my tear-filled eyes, I could see her look on concern. "What's wrong…?"

I tried to answer, to make up some excuse, but the tears would not stop flowing, and the emotion in my chest grew heavier. "I…I…" I choked, not bothering to fight it. "…excuse me."

Without trying to attract any more attention to me than I was sure was already there, I got up from my seat at the table and hastily made my way to the grand chamber doors, where I could be alone in the vast, empty hallways with my own tears and grief.

God in heaven…who was this masked man? More importantly, _what_ was he? What was it about him that made emotion stir within my heart that I had not felt in a long, long time…

Emotions that I had thought I had forgotten a long, long time ago…

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**Author's End Note:** So, here was chapter one. I kind of have a loose idea of where this is going, but whether or not the thought train derails on the way…well, only time will tell.


	2. Chapter Two: The Daroga's Warning

**Author's Note:** Greetings and salutations to everyone! I am back, with the second chapter in tow. I was actually surprised that this was finished when it was finished; it was supposed to be much longer, then I realized that it would become _too_ long had I gone with the original length. Hope you enjoy!

Much love and cookies to my beta, OritPetra

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**Chapter Two**

**The Daroga's Warning**

I didn't sleep that night. The song…the voice…haunted me, like an unseen phantom, every time I closed my eyes.

What had been wrong with me? What was it about that man's song that moved me to tears in the middle of dinner? Yes, that voice had been indescribably beautiful and extremely stirring, but it was more than just a voice… It had been a magic all its own, reaching into my soul, into my heart, beseeching from me my most cherished memories from a life that I had once known and loved, stirring within me a love of magic and music that I thought I had lost.

But why me? Why had he only affected me in that way? Why was I the only one who had been moved to tears, the only one whose soul was touched that night? Or was I really that weak that I could not control my own emotions?

Who was this masked man, with those alluring golden eyes…?

_God, I felt as if I was going mad!_

I sighed, sitting up in the bed I had been sleeping in since I arrived in Persia. The room was flooded in the pale moonlight, giving t an otherworldly glow that was magical in itself. The breeze filtering in through the tall, open windows was cool and refreshing compared to the intense heat of the day, and I welcomed it with quiet thanks. The rose that the masked man had given to me during dinner earlier that night was resting next to my pillow, as if it were some precious childhood's keepsake. I picked it up, examining it half-heartedly. In the darkness of the chamber, the petals that were one a luscious red looked to be deep purple, its delicate yet ageless scent surrounding me.

Sighing again, I walked over to the wide windows and looked up at the night sky, and for some reason, that night, I saw it in a way I had not seen it in very long time. Back when I had still known magic, back when it had been a part of my life when my father was alive. I realized that I was still holding the rose in my hands, turning it over gently between my fingers.

But what I'm feeling now… What is this? It was not like before…

I felt a new wave of determination pass through me as I frowned up to The waxing moon overhead.

There was no other question about it. I was going to find out who this man was, regardless of what anyone else might have had to say about it.

It would, at least, give me something to do during the day.

Since sleeping was proving to be useless, I was up again with the dawn, hastily dressing myself in a dress of crème-colored cotton. While I struggled to lace up my corset, I considered waiting for Rosie to come to the chamber, as she did every morning to help me and my cousin dress, but I wanted to get out of the room and away from my family as quickly and quietly as I could. This was something I wanted to do on my own, and without anyone else knowing.

Luckily, Gisele was still asleep by the time I was finished dressing – she had slept late every day since we arrived, I assumed it was the heat – so I slipped from the chamber as quietly as I could, leaving her snoring behind me.

The vast hallways beyond the chamber were empty of all other human life. A great courtyard opened up below it, and the only sound that could be heard was the soft trickle of water from the fountains within. Not even the birds were awake yet. The skies ahead were still the steely blue of the pre-dawn night, but a growing haze of orange and gold from the rising sun

could be seen on the eastern horizon.

It did not occur to me exactly how I was going to find him until I actually started looking. The Shah's palace was absolutely huge, and looking for one person amidst all the chambers, the endless maze of hallways, and countless gardens was as futile as searching for a needle in a haystack. And let's not forget all the areas of the palace that were off-limits to everyone but the closest members of the royal family.

Besides, when I finally did find him – if I found him at all – what was I going to say? Would he remember me from the night before? True, he did give the rose to me, but it did not necessarily mean that he remembered me from the window above the garden; that could have been pure coincidence. True, I had been flattered regardless, and took some content in knowing that Gisele would have been seething with jealously that I was picked rather than her, had she not been so biased towards "that sinister mask" that he wore.

A new thought suddenly struck me. Did he see me crying last night? Did he see me run from the room in tears? I knew that by doing so I had made a complete fool of myself. Had I offended him? I knew nothing about this masked man, and therefore knew nothing about how he would interpret my sudden departure the night before. Was I committing myself to deeper embarrassment if he confronted me about my emotions, to leave me ashamed with my mouth hanging open, utterly speechless?

_Perhaps this is all just a mistake._ I thought glumly, a black cloud hanging over my once optimistic mood. _Maybe I should just stop now, and go back to bed to save myself from being horribly embarrassed by him…_

But how did I know he was going to further embarrass me? How did I know that he was really a gentle soul, and would consol my tears with his angel's voice…

My heart picked up speed by a few beats. The thought of that voice – that otherworldly voice – speaking to me, and only to me, made my heart dance a little faster in my chest.

I hitched up my skirts and proceeded with renewed vigor down the hallways, but was unable to get very far when I quite literally ran into someone coming around the corner in the opposite direction. Francine and I both fell backwards in a very undignified manner, landing hard on our

backsides. Seeing Francine up and about this early in the morning came as something of a surprise to me. I knew that she was always the early bird of her family, rising well before her mother or sisters awoke, but I had hardly expected to run into her here. Had she been following me?

"Christine?" Francine sounded as equally surprised as I felt. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you the same question. What are you doing here?"

"I was down by the stables. The stable boys always take out the horses this early in the morning to be groomed and exercised. I like watching them."

Of course. How could I ever forget Francine's attraction to horses? The horses that were kept in the Shah's private stable were pure-bred, beautiful beasts that were held with higher esteem than most people were treated in this backwards kingdom.

My cousin eyed me suspiciously. "Never mind me. What are you doing out here, so early in the morning? You never used to be up at the crack of dawn like this. At least not as far as I know."

I picked myself up off the ground, brushing my skirts off, then helped Francine scramble to her feet. "Nothing in particular." I lied.

"You looked pretty determined for doing nothing."

"I was just going for a walk."

"I know I'm not that bright, Christine, but you can give me a little more credit than that."

I suddenly could not help but to feel a little guilty, reminding myself that Francine wasn't Gisele, and that I could probably trust her more than I could anyone else in my family. She got enough grief from her mother and older sister. She did not deserve to be getting it from me

too. I sighed dejectedly, lowering my voice as if I was afraid someone would overhear me and disrupt my plans. "I was…looking for someone."

Francine's face fell, and she suddenly looked fearful, resorting back to her normal nervous, mousy state. "Christine…you're not looking for…for him, are you?"

"What do you mean by 'him'?"

"You know who I'm talking about! That man in the mask from last night, who put on the magic show…"

"I…well, yes, I am."

"Christine, you mustn't!"

I rounded on her, my eyes narrowed. I had a feeling that her sudden state of fear had to do with something that her mother and sister told her last night. "And why not? What did Aunt Celest tell you?"

"She…well…she said that what we saw last night was the work of the devil! She also said that had we not been in the presence of the shah, she would have taken us out of there straight away!"

I had to suppress a snort. "She only said that because she's Catholic."

"You're Catholic too, Christine!"

"True, but I was never taught to fear and hate all forms of magic because I'm told to. Magic is a gift, Francine, the greatest gift given to

us by God. It's not a curse no more than it's evil. Just because not everyone can use it…or appreciate it…doesn't mean we all should fear it."

Francine gave me a questioning, disproving look, but she lacked the will to say anything against it. Had I been speaking to either Gisele or my aunt, I could have received harsh criticism about how I wasn't raised as a civilized girl, that I was no better than the "flea-bitten heathens" of the carnivals my "good-for-nothing father" trailed for so many years. Despite the harsh punishments that would usually follow, I had long learned to block it all out. Magic had been too big a part in her life in the past to have it merely quashed out of me.

Seeming to realize her first attempt at dissuading me wasn't going to work, Francine then asked, "Why are you trying to find him?"

"I'm…not sure." I began uncertainly. "Ever since last night, however, I can't seem to stop thinking about him. I don't have to speak to

him…I just want to see him again. Is that so wrong?"

"Well…no…" Francine looked away, embarrassed. "But, Christine…didn't you think that there was something…off about him? Something odd… I just have never seen anyone like him, magical or no."

"I know." I agreed. "Maybe that's why I'm so drawn to him. I want to know who he is…what he is. Why I feel so…drawn to him. Francine, please don't tell your mother or father about this. Or Gisele, for that matter. They're all so incredibly opposed to magic…they would never understand."

Francine looked momentarily conflicted, then her shoulders fells in defeat. "Alright, Christine, I won't tell them. Just be careful, please? Like you said, you don't know what he is, you don't know if he's dangerous, or if he only listens to the shah's orders…"

Now I could not help but laugh, taking hold on my cousin's hand and squeezing it gently. "You're being too paranoid. Nothing bad is

going to happen. I've been around magicians enough in the past to know how to behave around them. If I start to cross him, I'll leave him alone. It's as easy as that."

"Yes, but…"

"I'll be fine, Francine." I said with perhaps a little more force than what was needed, but I had to put my foot down to her. The morning was burning away, and chances were that the rest of my family was already beginning to rise. If I wanted to find him without any interference, now was the time to do it. Without waiting to give my cousin a chance to change her mind, I hurried past her and down the hall, pretending to ignore any protest she might have called after me.

To my relief, none came, and the search continued.

Just because I was temporarily free of any interferences my family might have caused me did not mean my quest to seek out the masked man was any easier. I went on looking for hours, glancing in every room I passed, making sure no passage went unsearched, and yet it was all futile in the end. By mid-day, I was hot, tired, and irritable, vowing that if I did not find him within the next hour, I would give up and return to the chamber Gisele and I shared for a well-deserved nap.

The hour came and went, and at last I came to a halt in another spacious hallway, exactly like all the rest I had been trekking, and threw my hands up in defeat with an audible groan. What a perfect waste of time this had been! After an entire morning and half an afternoon's worth of hunting, I had not seen a single trace of the masked man from the night before. Maybe he was like one of those rare, mythical animals from my father's stories; magical, mysterious, and only found when he wanted to be found. If that were the case, then he certainly would not want to bother his time with a droll little chic like myself. Mask or no, he probably had an entire harem of beautiful, dark-skinned Persian women to abide his time with. The thought of it made my cheeks flush in annoyance.

I harrumphed in a most un-lady like fashion, surprised that such a thought offended me. It was not as if I was attracted to him in any way! Why would I be jealous if he did have a lover? I knew nothing about him…

My irritation ebbed as quickly as it came, and I felt a wave of tiredness wash over me. Being wake all night and up with the dawn was

beginning to take its toll on me. I turned to head back the way I came….

and realized that I was, indeed, hopelessly lost.

old panic flooded me before I could stop it. I had been so wrapped in my own determination to find him that I had completely lost track of which way I came, or even what wing of the Shah's palace I was in! With the sun high in the sky, I could not tell which way was east or west, and with me being unable to speak even a word of Persian…

_Oh, what a predicament you have landed yourself in, Christine Daaé!_

Refusing to let myself become flustered, I started back down the way I came, hoping that I would, by chance, find my way back to the guest quarters as I had found my way here.

Looking for my chambers turned out to be as hopeless as looking for the masked man, I had realized not after long. I was still lost, growing more flustered by the moment, and the heat of the day was beginning to take its toll on me; my skin felt clammy and sticky, and my throat felt parched. The hope and determination that I had felt earlier that same morning was quickly turning to despair and immeasurable frustration.

When the mid-afternoon sun was glaring down upon me, I came across of the palace's many smaller gardens, which unfortunately, looked completely unfamiliar to me. The shade was a welcomed relief, though, and with a final aggravated sigh, I sank down to a bench under a large palm tree, my face buried in my hands.

How I hated it here! Hated it, hated it, hated it!

I wasn't sure how long I sat there, wallowing in my own self pity. I was so absorbed in my own misfortune and the embarrassing situation I had landed myself in that I was not aware that anyone else was in the garden until he cleared his throat from somewhere in front of me.

My head immediately snapped up (so much so that it made my neck hurt), genuinely surprised to find out that I was not alone in the garden, much to my own embarrassment. I was just thankful if I had not been crying. What the fool I would have looked then.

I recognized the man standing before me immediately; it was the handsome Persia in the uniform who was standing by the shah the night before. He stood a good ten feet away from me, as if he did not want to intimidate me with his presence, with a look of genuine concern on his dark face. For what seemed like a very long time, we just stared at each other, waiting for the other to speak, unsure of where to start. Finally, he cleared his throat, and said in, to my surprise, very thickly accented French; "Is there something the matter, miss?"

I was not sure what surprised me more; the fact that he could speak French at all, or that he spoke it so well. He was the first native of

Persia I had heard speak my own native language since I arrived. Until then, it was a notion that I did not even bother to fathom. All I was certain

about was the immense feeling of relief that flooded every corner of my body. Luck had finally come to my side for the first time that day. I sprang up from the bench, never bothering to hide my relief that there was someone here to help me out of my predicament, disregarding the suspicion of how a native to Persia could speak French so relatively well.

"Please, sir…" I began, not bothering the mask how my voice trembled. "Please, I was walking the halls of the Palace, and lost my way. Could you help please me find the way back?"

The man smiled faintly. "You've come quite a ways from the guests' quarters, miss. Come, I shall escort you back." From his polite

speech and mannerisms, I half-expected him to offer me his arm until I remembered that was not a custom here. Regardless, I dropped a shallow curtsy, thanked him in a most humbled manner, and followed him out of the garden and down the palace hallways.

We walked in silence for some ten minutes, backtracking our steps down the maze-like marble corridors. I stayed close on the man's heels, afraid that if I took my eyes off him for a single second, he would disappear. I quietly marveled at how far I had really traveled. Then I was struck with a sudden revelation, and blushed at my own rudeness. "Excuse me…monsieur…excuse me for not asking sooner, but what is your name?"

"I am called Nadir. Nadir Kahn." He said simply, never adverting his eyes from directly in front of him. "I am the Daroga of Mazanderan. A police chief, as you would call them from your country." He finished off quickly, before I could ask. "And you are…"

"Christine. Christine Daaé."

"Daaé?" The Daroga of Mazanderan repeated. "I had thought that the surname of your family was…"

"It is." I cut him off quickly. "Well, at least, it is their surname. My aunt's first husband was my mother's brother. We're not even related by blood, only through marriage. I have chosen to keep my father's name, even after his death."

Nadir Kahn nodded, but said nothing. We did not speak again for another five or so minutes. Good God, was the palace truly this monstrous?

"Did you find what you were searching for, mademoiselle?"

His question caught me by complete surprise, my stomach turning in small circles in my middle. "Excuse me, monsieur?"

"I have seen you pass this way several times since this morning, and I have had several servants inform me that it appeared as if you were searching for something."

I tried to think of a quick lie – _I was searching for my cat, or my puppy, who had wondered away from the night before!_ – before I remembered that I had no cat or puppy with me to search for in the first place. I did not have the time to think of a proper excuse; any hesitation in my answer would only increase any suspicion that this man might have of me…not that I had been doing anything wrong to be suspicious about. Besides, he had also just told me he was the chief of the shah's police. Lying to him would have been pointless anyway.

"I was…looking for someone."

"Who was it you were searching for?"

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like I was being caged in. "The…the masked man, from last night. The magician…"

"You won't find him. At least, not during the daytime." Nadir Kahn said hastily, as if he wanted to cut me off as quickly and soundly as possible. "He spends his time during the day in the court of the shah. Or with the khanum, given her current mood. Regardless, looking for him during this time of day is merely a waste of time." I was about to protest that I had not known any better when he seemed to have been struck with a new thought. For the first time since we left the garden, he came to a stop, staring hard at me. I had not realized how tall he was, and I suddenly felt much smaller and insignificant than I already knew I was. "Why were you looking for him?"

"I…I…" I stammered hopelessly, stepping back involuntarily. Had I breeched some sort of political taboo in searching for him? My words that followed came out in a rush; I'm not even sure that he understood half of what I said. "It's just that…I mean… When my father was alive, we used to travel with the local carnivals, and we were always in the presence of magicians. But when he died, I was sent to live with my aunt, I had lost all the magic in my life. Seeing him…seeing his magic from the night before…it just reminded me of… I wasn't going to bother him, I just wanted to tell him how much it meant to me."

Nadir Kahn's expression softened. "I see…" he began slowly. He looked conflicted, as if there was something else he needed to tell me but was sealing himself against it. "I do not mean to frighten you, mademoiselle, but you must know and understand this; do not get involved with him. Leave him be, for your own safety. He is too close to the shah and the khanum…and too dangerous of enemies with the grand vizier. As for he himself…" he shuddered. "Forget your need to see him, mademoiselle. He is like the dragons of the mountains…a power and majesty to be appreciated from afar, and only from afar. Only fools venture close enough to touch the dragon's scales. Do you understand me?"

"I…well, yes, I do, but…monsieur, is he dangerous?"

"He can be…yes, to those that cross him. But to you…" the Daroga studied me closely. "He knows and understands innocence and beauty when he sees it, perhaps better than anyone else on this earth. I do not think he has it in him to harm you. But that does not mean that trying to get close to him won't present its share of dangers to yourself and those close to you. Mazanderan is a kingdom of the darkest games, Christine Daaé, and he is their key pawn. Heed my word, and do not get involved. Will you give me your promise?"

Cold fear had grabbed hold of my insides, and I nodded out of nothing more than sheer obedience to that very same fear. "Yes sir. I promise."

If my answer consoled him at all, Nadir Kahn made no sign. He only turned his back to me once again, and we continued back towards the guests' quarters of the Mazanderan palace.

"Monsieur…" I spoke once again, my voice soft and humble, in an attempt to break the tension. "Your French is quite good."

Nadir Kahn made an affirmative sound in his throat. "Yes. Erik's been teaching me."

"Erik?"

"That is his name."

"Oh."

The rest of the journey took place in silence.

**Author's Note II:** I love Nadir. The poor guy never gets a break. No Erik in this chapter. I'm sorry TT Not a lot happening either, so sorry if you found yourself nodding off half-way through… But fear not! It shall get better.

**And now…it's time for reviewer's response corner!**

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**Broken-Mask:** Thank you for your comments on Erik and Christine's character D Although it's against her original character, a weak-willed Christine just didn't seen appropriate for this story. I hope you enjoy this story as it goes!

**Vicangel****** He is so very mysterious, isn't he?

**OritPetra****** I can't thank you enough for beta-ing this story! It's good to know that you're enjoying it while putting up with my atrocious grammar, lol. Thanks for your feedback on the individual scenes and don't worry, this is something I wholly plan to finish.

**YoukoElfMaiden**: I hope you continue to enjoy this story Thank you for your encouragement!

**FantazmFairy**: Miazaki rocks my socks. I hope this story does justice for him, and for you as a fan of his work!

**Mistress Moon Demon:** Here's your update!


	3. Chapter Three: Tiger, Tiger

**Chapter Three**

**Tiger, Tiger**

Nadir Kahn escorted me back to the chambers that I was sharing with Gisele, and left me without a word, or even a final hinted warning of keeping away from the masked man.

_Erik…he said his name was Erik…_

I repeated the name over and over in my mind, trying to pinpoint its origin. The name "Erik" was not uncommon in France…was it possible that he was of French nationality? If he was able to teach the Daroga of Persia the language, then it might have been possible. Then I remembered how well he spoke to the shah in Persian, and I realized that I would not be surprised if those were not the only languages he was fluent in. I supposed the only way I could have really known was to ask him myself.

_Do not get involved with him. Forgot your need to see him again._

Nadir Kahn's words echoed in my head, like some dark tolling dirge, but I could not conjure up the fear or wariness that I'm sure he had tried to inspire in me. I was not a fool. While there were plenty of good and honorable magicians in the world, it still had its share of dark magicians who only specialized in profit, destruction, and most often, death. While traveling with the carnivals, I had heard about more than my share of rich families and powerful kingdoms who were completely shattered in the most horrid ways by dark magicians who were ruled by their own untamed power and greed. I could not expect someone like the shah or the khanum to exclude the masked man – _Erik _– from their courts merely because he was a wielder of black magic.

_Mazanderan__ is a kingdom of the darkest games, and he is their key pawn._

If what the Daroga spoke to me was true, it would actually make more sense that they kept a dark magician at their side than one who dappled in white magic. The profit would have been greater to those on a dark magician's good side, regardless of the risk that he could turn that same power on his own allies on a moment's notice…

Then there were always the infamous stories of the dark magicians who used that same power to seduce young, unknowing women to their sides, where their hearts and souls would be devoured before the poor, unfortunate victim even knew what was happening…

A small shiver of apprehension ran up my spine. Perhaps it was a good idea to stay away from Erik, after all.

But why was I still not afraid?

Nadir and I said our goodbyes at the massive doorways leading to the chambers that Gisele and I were staying at. I thanked him, once again with another shallow curtsy, and hurried inside the rooms before he could give me any additional warnings about Erik. My rational mind told me that I should be regarding what he was telling me, but being a very curious person by nature, I knew I would end up going against my own better judgment. I would not; however, go back out to actively search for him. I had a feeling that Nadir Kahn was one of those men who only offered his warnings once with measured patience.

I had been hoping that I would be alone when I returned to my chambers, but that hope was instantly put an end to as soon as I walked through the doors. Gisele was there, of course – I should have known, given the time of day and the heat associated with it – but to my surprise, Francine was there as well, sitting on one of the divans in the back of the room. My heart began to sink as I took in their expressions. Between Gisele's smug smile and Francine's pallor face, I knew that I had good reason to dread what was about to take place.

"Welcome back, Christine." Gisele said in an all-too sweet voice, like wine tainted with poison. "We missed you at both breakfast and dinner. Where _have_ you been?"

My cousin was up to something. I could see right threw her false concern like carefully polished crystal. Before I chanced an answer, I cast a quick glance over at Francine. She was shrinking back further and further into the plush cushions of the divan, squeaking like a mouse the whole time. I understood immediately. Gisele had been suspicious of my mysterious disappearance, and pressured her sister into telling her.

Francine had, of course, given into Gisele's harassment.

I decided not to dignify Gisele's advance with a response. Not right away, at least. When Gisele wanted an answer, she wanted it _now_, and not giving her the answer she demanded was, in its own way, slightly satisfying. She had always been so horribly arrogant, and expected people to give her what she wanted just because she demanded it. Most people did. I would not be one of them, and that angered her to no end. Pretending that I did not hear her, I strode past her and over to my bed on the opposite side of the chamber. Taking a plopping seat on the plump mattress, I picked up one of the books I had brought with me from France and began to feign reading, all the while ignoring her presence. From the reflection in the mirror, I could see Gisele's face darken.

"Christine? Did you not hear me?"

I continued to pretend that I did not, and continued to read in reserved silence.

"Christine!"

It was a grim sort of satisfaction knowing that I finally got under her skin, so I looked up from my book, playing stupid and looking at my cousin as if I had just noticed her since I first arrived back in the room. "Yes, Gisele? Were you saying something?"

Gisele glowered at me, but the feuds between us had long ago evolved from childish shouting matches. She kept her voice quiet when she spoke again, although there was a definite razor's edge to her words. "I had asked, my _dear_ cousin, where you had disappeared to all day. Francine…" The young girl gave a poignant whimper at the mention of her name, "informed me that you were looking for someone today. Is that true?"

"It might have been."

Gisele sniffed arrogantly. "At first, I thought she must have been jesting. I might have believed her if she told me you had gone into the city, thinking for sure that you were looking for rats to nurse back to health or some silly hobby like that. But when she told me that you were still within the palace walls, I could not but help but possibly wonder who you could have been looking for. Then I remembered…" I watched in horror as Gisele uncrossed her arms, holding in one talon-like hand, the rose that Erik had given me the night before. "just how intently you were watching that magician from last night."

I rose from the cushions, forgetting to keep my head when getting into a row with Gisele. "Give that back, Gisele!" I cried angrily.

A light went on behind Gisele's eyes. "So it _is_ him, isn't it?"

"And so what if it was?" I demanded.

"My dear little cousin…" Gisele's voice oozed honey and poison. "There's no need to get so defensive. I merely wanted to give you a point of advice. It just so happens that while returning from lunch today, I saw your enigmatic man walking down this very hallway. He entered a chamber, just at the dead end. As far as I know, he has not left since, so he could still be there…if you are still interested in meeting him, that is." She quickly added with an indifferent air, pretending as if she were not sure if I still cared or not.

Damn her, she full well knew I was!

"It might not be a good idea, Gisele." Francine squeaked from in the back of the chamber. "That might be his private quarters, I'm sure he would not want to be bothered…"

"Oh, tosh!" Gisele waved a hand. "It couldn't be his private chambers, or else why haven't we seen him there before? All Christine has to do is knock on the doors. If he's in the mood for company, then he'll answer. If not, then he'll simply not answer the door, or turn her away. Where's the harm in that?"

The imps of curiosity were beginning to stir in my head, regardless of how my curiosity attempted to persuade me to not give into their temptations. Ever since I could remember, I had always been a curios person by nature, and more often than naught, it managed to find me in a spot of trouble in the end.

I knew I should heed Nadir's warnings.

I knew that I should have not given in to those temptations.

But for some strange reason, I no longer cared.

"The chamber at the end of the hall, you said?"

"Christine, don't!" Francine bounded up from the divan. "You'll get in trouble!" She looked like she was ready to protest further, but when Gisele shot her a sharp warning glance, her younger sister immediately shrank away, looking for all the world like she wanted to slink under the divan and disappear.

"Yes, Christine, just right down the hallway. Besides, what's the harm in just knocking in the door? The worse he can do is tell you to leave him alone."

_It's a trap, it's a trap, don't trust her, it's all a trap!_

_But oh! how I wanted to see him again…_

"You're right. What harm can it do?"

Gisele's face brightened with a smile, but I could still see that it was tinted with something dark, like a cloud passing over the sun. "That a girl. Now, hurry along, I'm not sure how much longer he'll be there."

Without saying another word, I crossed the chamber and was just about to leave through the doors when I cast one last glance over to my cousins. Francine was shut up like a clam, but her large, watery eyes pleaded silently to me to not go. Gisele was grinning in encouragement, and as I looked at her expression, I could not help but to think of the serpent that tricked Eve into eating the apple off the Tree of Wisdom.

I still crossed the threshold all the same.

My heart was trembling like a trapped bird behind my ribs as I made my way to the end of the vast hallway, towards the heavily carved doors that loomed ominously before me. When I got closer to them, I realized that the designs on the dark wood were in fact tigers, the great snarling cats highlighted in bright gold with brilliant emeralds gleaming in their eyes. For whatever reason, this came off as slightly strange to me. Most of the woodwork and statuary within the shah's palace were depictions of the shah's ancestors and other great relatives or fantastical mythical figures. But I brushed it off just as quickly as the notion came to me.

I took a deep breath, straightening out the folds in my dress and flattened any hairs that might have been standing astray from my head, then rose one hand to know on the door. The rapping sounded hollow and irrelevant to the sheer size of the doors, but seemed to echo thunderously down the empty hallways. Or maybe that was my heart pounding in my chest – my pulse shaking every fiber of my body.

I waited.

No one came to the door. I could not help the small sigh of disappointment that escaped my lips.

A new thought suddenly came to mind. _I did knock, didn't I? It's not like I would be barging in unannounced…_

Swallowing nervously, I placed my hands on the cool wooden surface of the door and pushed.

To my silent delight, the door swung open with lazy ease. A small smile played across my face, and I pushed the door open just enough to let myself slip inside.

What lay beyond was nothing compared to what I had been expecting. While I was thinking that I would be walking into another vast and luxurious chamber of marble and silk, I instead walked into a vast, circular courtyard overflowing with lush, green vegetation. At first, I assumed that it was just another garden, until I noticed the lack of pathways, fountains, and delicate flower arrangements that were usually found in the numerous sitting gardens of the palace. There was no ceiling above, just a circle of bright blue sky, and something that looked like a balcony lined the edge of the high wall. It looked like a place where someone would stand and look down onto the garden…

The sound of water filled the small area, coming from a waterfall somewhere out of sight, and I became aware of a pungent smell within the strange, circular garden that made me involuntarily wrinkle my nose. It smelt similar to cleaning ammonia, but it was by far stronger, something that I could not put my finger on…

The trees before me swayed gently, as if caught in a breeze, but I could feel no wind on my face. There was something moving through the plants, coming towards me. My heart rose into my throat as I held my breath, trying to quell the fear that tried to creep its way into my veins.

The green fronds of the ferns before me parted, and to my absolute surprise and simultaneous terror, I found myself face-to-face with a great orange tiger.

Panic as I had never known before knifed through my stomach, clouding my mind, but my voice failed me, so I was unable to make so much as a single whimper of fear. The great cat stared at me, as if I had surprised it as much as it had surprised me, its great, lamp-like eyes boring straight into my skull. Its long tail twitched lazily.

Not daring to take my eyes from the tiger, I backed up, slowly, making my way back the way I had come in hopes that I could escape before it decided to make me into an entrée before its real meal was delivered. One hand was stretched out behind me as I blindly groped my way back, but just as my trembling fingers touched the polished wood, the door banged shut behind me, and I heard the unmistakable, telltale sound of a deadbolt being locked. I tore my eyes away from the tiger, hurtling myself against the door with all the force I could muster, but it refused to budge.

"So Christine, tell me…did you find him?"

_Gisele!_ I should had _known_ that she had been up to no good! But to lock me in the same area as a bloody _tiger_…

"Gisele!" I screamed, pounding against the wood. My voice was hoarse and cracking horribly, unfamiliar to my own ears in my state of panic. "Gisele, please, open up! Open up the door! The tiger…the tiger…!"

"Well, mother always said that your curiosity would get the better of you someday. I'm simply saving her the trouble of having to punish you later once she found out about your little escapade today. Besides, I had always thought that you were fond of cats."

"Gisele, this isn't funny!" I heard Francine wail, her high-pitched voice muffled. "Let her out, she's learned her lesson, haven't you Christine!"

"Yes, yes, I have!" I called back, daring a glance back over my shoulder. The tiger had not moved, but the twitch in its tail picked up speed, and its round ears were beginning to lower against its massive head. "Please Gisele, open the door, I'll do anything you ask!"

"No, I think not. This is by far more fun."

"Gisele, _please!_" I begged desperately, but my oldest cousin did not answer, she only laughed cruelly. Her laughter sounded chillingly further away than her voice had been, and my situation was not helped by Francine's pleas to her sister; "Gisele, come back! Gisele, I can't open the door by myself, it's too heavy!"

"Francine! Go find help!"

From the sound of her voice, I could tell Francine was nearly in tears. "But I can't leave you alone!"

"You can't open the door by yourself, either! Go find help Francine, please!"

"But the tiger…"

"_Just go Francine, now!"_

I could not tell if she had finally complied or not, but she no longer protested. All I could do was pray – pray like I had never prayed before – that she would find someone who would understand her dilemma enough to regard her situation. But how long would it take? I looked back at the tiger, my own eyes swimming with tears of anger and fear. The big cat was now glaring at me, regarding me as a pesky trespasser to its territory, and my heart nearly stopped as a low, thunderous growl filled the garden. With a choking sob, I sank down to the ground, my back still pressed against the door, the tears in my eyes finally spilling down my face. When the muscles of its great back legs began to coil, I buried my face in my hands, unable to witness the final blow as it was dealt to me.

_Stupid, stupid, I was so stupid… Father forgive me, forgive my abhorred ways…_

_I had only wanted some magic back in my life again…_

The tiger roared before me, an ethereal bellow that filled the world, consuming my own screams as if they never existed. I waited for it to pounce, waiting for the end to come…

The tiger roared again, this time causing my eyes to snap open for unknown reasons, but just in time to see a shadowed figure fall to earth, his black cloak flaring behind him like the wings of some dark angel, putting himself directly between myself and the giant cat. The tiger snarled, its dagger-like fangs bared menacingly as it took a vicious swipe at my savior with its huge paw. I cried out a wordless warning, but the man before me did not so much as flinch at the tiger's advance. He rose a single hand before him and spoke to – no, _commanded­_ ­– the tiger in forceful Persian, his voice echoing off the garden with all the power of the tiger's roar.

_That voice…I knew that voice…_

When he stopped speaking, silence become a deafening presence within the tiger's enclosure, a thick veil that seemed to even smother the sound of the unseen waterfall. Both tiger and man were now completely still, staring at one another like statues, waiting for the other to move first…

At last, the tiger's ear's drooped to either side of its head, its lashing tail fell limp, and it sunk submissively to the mossy ground, its huge head on its paws as it stared up to the victor with the same air as a dog that had been scolded by its master. I could do nothing but stare in awe, my mouth hanging foolishly open without me even knowing.

With the tiger subdued, my savior lowered his hand and turned to look at me. The afternoon sun glinted off the bone-white mask, his eyes shining like the purest golden treasure…

_I had known it was him!_

When he spoke again, it was not in Persian, but rather in my native French, "Are you alright?"

Oh, to hear those words spoken in that voice of silk and ebony to me, and only to me… Although they held no real warmth, they sounded as sweet as honey and as comforting as a spring day…

For what felt like hours, it seemed that I could do nothing but stare up at him from where I was still doubled-over against the door, my mouth hanging slightly slack as all words failed me. His face – or rather, what I could see of his face – betrayed no emotion as he stared down at me like a hawk before finally looking away. "Suit yourself."

The sudden coldness of his voice shook me back to reality and the words that I had lost before came back in a rush. "Yes…yes, I'm fine. Oh thank you, thank you so much…"

"It's of no concern." He continued, his voice still even and indifferent. "You and your sisters…"

"Cousins," I quickly corrected him, but he paid no attention.

"…were causing such a commotion it was impossible to _not_ hear you. How you managed to get yourself in here of all places, however…"

"I wouldn't have come here on purpose if I knew that this was a _tiger _cage!" I protested, finally finding the strength to lift myself to my feet. "I was looking for…someone." I did not want to tell him that _he_ was the one I had been searching for; it would be too embarrassing. "My oldest cousin told me that he had come into this room. I didn't know that there was a tiger in here! If I had, of course I would have never come into such a dangerous place…"

"I assure you, mademoiselle," Erik said, his voice distinctly lower and more sensuous than it had been but a moment before, as he leaned down to the tiger's level. My heart gave an anxious jolt as he reached out with one skeletal hand and rested his long fingers in the tiger's fur. "There is only one real danger in this room." His words hung suspended in the air as he extended his other hand towards me.

I held my breath as I looked at that spidery hand reaching out to me, human but, at the same time, so incredibly inhuman in its own way… Now that I was this close to him, I could see that even his fingernail were peculiar, filed into points like talons. Neither of us moved for several moments, his intense golden eyes locked onto mine. I don't know what my hesitation said to him, but when I thought I saw a shadow of disappointment fall over those eyes, I felt a sudden wave of guilt and crossed the distance between us to take hold of his outstretched hand. A strange sort of jolt passed through me in that first contact between us, an electric tingle that tickled my spine and made gooseflesh rise on my arms.

Gently, he pulled me forward, closer to him and the great cat laying at his feet. Slowly and cautiously, I came to crouch beside him, my heart skipping a beat when I realized how close to I now was to him rather than the tiger. Without a word, Erik guided my hand downwards until it came to rest on the tiger's fur on the top its head. The hair was course and wiry under my fingers, yet still unmistakably soft in its own way. I moved my fingers, cautiously at first, and when the big cat began to purr, which itself sounded like the distant rumble of a steam engine, but it leant into my touch, like a very, very large housecat, I could not help but smile.

"Just remember, mademoiselle, things are not always as they seem. One man's monster can might just as well be a girl's best friend."

"It certainly didn't seem that way a few moments ago." I said lightly, now letting the tiger lick my hand. Its tongue felt like sandpaper across my skin. A few moments ago, I would have feared that such an action was the prelude to the meal it would make of me; now, I felt no fear at all.

While his attention was still fixed on the tiger, I risked taking a glance at the magician sitting beside me, seeing how this was the first time I was so close to him. It was terribly frustrating trying to see through that mask, trying to imagine the face of the man that lay beneath its porcelain surface. Even though it was cold and chillingly expressionless, the mask still made him ethereally handsome, giving him the illusion of high cheekbones and flawless skin. His hair hung long over his eyes and down the back of his neck, framing his ghostly face in delicate tendrils. And his eyes…I could never get over the lure of those strange golden eyes that held so much power and wisdom in their depths… But…

There was something else. Not just power, but also a terrible sadness, crushing loneliness…like he didn't have a friend in the world…

It was a perfect reflection of what I felt inside…

"Perhaps we should be going. Your cousin, if I assume correctly, was in a right mess before I arrived."

"Francine!" I gasped as reality came crashing back to me. "Oh my God, I forgot all about her! Was she the one who told you?"

"Not directly." Erik said nonchalantly, rising to his feet and helping me to my own. The tiger paid us no more mind, and rather began to lazily scratch behind its ear with a back leg. "I heard her screaming up and down the whole length of the palace. I just happened to be the closest one in the area, and that tigers don't tend to wait when an easy meal's at stake."

"Oh…" I don't know why I felt slightly disappointed at the knowledge that he did not save me as a good deed, but rather as a convenience. Perhaps it was because I was hoping that he would be a knight in shining armor, like in the faery tales my father used to tell me. "Right then… Thank you, anyway. I owe you my life."

"I wouldn't ask you for something so dramatic. Shall we?" He did not offer me his arm, but he did allow me to leave the tiger's garden before him. I waited just beyond the threshold while Erik pulled the doors shut and bolt them so no one else had the chance to wander in…or the tiger could get out. My heart was still pounding behind my ribs. After an entire day of searching, then temporarily giving up, I was finally here with him.

But then came the resurfacing apprehension of not knowing what to say to him, even now, after he saved my life. A part of me figured that he probably had no interest in speaking further to me, but I did not want him to just leave, not after I was finally here with him. However, words seemed to fail me, yet again, and every time I opened my mouth to speak, nothing came out. I was rapidly reaching a dead end with no way to get myself out of it.

"So, you wanted to speak to me about something?"

Erik's words made me jump in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"Nadir Kahn told me that you were searching for me. You met him earlier, remember? The Daroga of Mazanderan. I met with him about an hour or so ago. He told me that one of the daughters of the Shah's French friend was searching for me. Was it you, or one of your cousins?"

"No…I mean yes…I mean, no, no, it was me." I felt my cheeks burning in a hot blush. Damn my nervous stutter!

"Do you still need to speak to me?"

"I…" I swallowed. "It's just… Well, it was about the show from last night, during the dinner. It's been years since I've seen magic like that…"

Erik snorted through his mask, cutting me off mid-sentence. "Magic? Those were parlor tricks last night. If you assume that _that_ was real magic, then you obviously couldn't have seen much."

"Th-that's not true!" I said indignantly, feeling insulted and slightly injured on the inside. "I have seen real magic, but it wasn't what _saw_… it was what I felt… I knew from the first time I saw you that you had real magic inside you, and whether or not you choose to use that on a regular basis doesn't matter… I still saw it inside you. There hasn't…there hasn't been real magic in my life in a very long time. And…and so…just being able to feel that way again… It was like…like…"

"Your first breath of air after being held under water?"

"Yes. That's about how it felt…" _But not quite._ "So, I just wanted to… I know it sounds silly, but I just wanted to…thank you for that."

"It was nothing being worth thanked for." Erik replying coolly, not looking at me as he began to walk down the halls, away from the tiger's garden. I followed him closely, but his strides were too long for my legs to keep in step with him. "Magic can be an addiction. To be around it again for so long after its absence is no different than smoking opium after a very long withdrawal."

I frowned at him. I knew I should have been disliking this mysterious masked man more and more every moment, but I still too captivated by him to be turned away by his brunt comments. "You only say that because you don't know what it's like being away from it."

Erik snorted again. "Don't be so presumptuous, mademoiselle. Even those born with magic can loose it in the darkest hours of their lives."

"Whether you loose it or not, it doesn't mean that it's no less of a gift. You shouldn't brush it off so."

Erik stopped then, so abruptly that I nearly ran into him. "A gift?" He barked a laugh that startled me so much that I actually stepped back and away from him. "A gift indeed. It seems to me that you've been fed nothing more than sugar-coated versions of stories and legends concerning the matter. Magic is more of a curse than a gift, mademoiselle. Power comes hand-and-hand with sacrifice. The greater the power…" His voice dropped off dramatically as he reached up with one bony hand to touch the mask that covered his face. "The greater the sacrifice."

Was it just me, or had the world suddenly become darker? It was almost as if a single storm cloud had settled over the sun, draining the world of all vibrant colors and plunging the temperatures so that gooseflesh rose over my arms…

"Was that why you were weeping last night?"

My attention snapped back to the here and now, and the cloud that covered the sun was instantly gone, leaving the world bright and warm once again. "I'm sorry?"

"You were crying last night, before you left the chamber earlier than your family. Was that the reason? Just being close to magic again?"

Another hot blush flared across my face, and I was no longer able to meet his eyes. I dropped my gaze down to my hands as I twiddled my fingers nervously. "Oh, no…no, that wasn't the reason. It was… It had been your voice. Your song." Was I really telling him this? If I kept going, I knew that I would only set myself up for humiliation…

"Let me guess. You lost music from your life as well." Regardless if he was being sarcastic or not, he hit the reason right on the head.

"Yes. That's exactly the reason."

I could feel his piercing eyes on me again, and when I dared to look up, those golden irises were tinted with a shadow of inquisitiveness, silently asking me to go on. "You see…my father was a musician. A violinist. And when he played, I would sing with his songs." I took a deep breath, looking away again in fear that the tears would come back. "He died. About five years ago. I haven't sung since."

"How was your voice?"

"My voice?"

"Yes, your voice. Was it decent?"

I frowned up at him. What did that have to do with anything? "How should I have known? My father always told me I was good, but what does that prove? Parents will tell their children they're good at everything."

"Sing for me."

I blinked. "I bed your pardon?"

"You heard me. I want you to sing for me."

"Sing _what_, I might ask?"

"Anything."

I wanted to refuse. I wanted to get away from him, now that what I had wanted to say was said. I was beginning to think more and more that I should have listened to Nadir Khan's warnings…

But, damn it all, I could not resist those eyes. I had to take a moment to think of what I was going to sing. Then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and sung for him.

_Nella__ fantasia io vedo un mondo giusto,  
Li tutti vivono in pace e in onestà.  
Io sogno d'anime che sono sempre libere,  
Come le nuvole che volano,  
Pien' d'umanità in fondo all'anima._

I trailed off, leaving the last note hanging in the air, but my eyes remained shut, waiting for him to speak first, to do something, _anything_ before I did…

But he never did. When the silence became too much to bear, I slowly pried my eyes open. What I saw surprised me. Erik had moved a little ways away from me, leaning with one arm against the marble wall, breathing deeply. A sudden crushing embarrassment gripped my stomach. Had I been that awful? I knew my father had said I was good just out of fatherly love, but I never assumed I was so horrible…

"Have you ever had a lesson before?"

Once again, Erik's first question confused me. "No…I mean, my father would give me pointers, but I never had a teacher… Was I that terrible?"

"Terrible?" Erik laughed dryly. "Anyone who says your voice it terrible deserves to be hung by their toes over a pit of cobras. Your voice would make the angels themselves green with envy."

This time I was sure that my blush would burn the few freckles I had on my nose right off my face. "No, you must be mistaken…I couldn't possibly be _that_ good…"

"I assure you, mademoiselle, that I am far from mistaken. I know perfection when I see it…and hear it. Your voice is like a diamond in the rough right now…tarnished, and unrecognizable as a being such, but a diamond all the same. It would only need to be polished and cut before perfection is reached."

"I don't…understand…"

"I won't have such a perfect instrument running around at such an unsatisfactory level while I'm here, mademoiselle. Now, assuming that your schedule isn't terribly full in the early evenings, I expect you to be at my chambers, tomorrow at five o'clock, for your first lesson. I will not tolerate any tardiness. Understood?"

His commands hit me faster than a bolt of lightning, leaving my head spinning in a daze. I began to stutter so badly that I could barely understand myself. "I… I couldn't, I can't possibly impose…truly sir, its not that important, it would only be wasting your time…"

"You will also learn that I will not take no for an answer. Five o'clock tomorrow evening, mademoiselle. No exceptions. I will see you tomorrow night." Before I had a chance to further protest, Erik turned on his heel with all the grace of a cat and strode down the hall, leaving me behind in his shadow.

Before he was out of ear's length, I found my voice again and called after him in a rush; "My name is Christine!"

He stopped only for a moment, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

"Christine." I repeated shakily. "My name is Christine Daaé."

"Then I shall see you tomorrow night than, Christine Daaé. Do not keep me waiting."

Then he was gone, like smoke in the air. I stood, rooted to the same spot, for several more moments, and once I was convinced he wasn't coming back, I released the breath I had been holding, and walked back to the chambers Gisele and I were sharing.

Gisele had not returned from where ever she had run off to after locking me in the tiger's cage, but Francine was, her chubby face pale and still tear-streaked. When she saw me walk into the room, she gave an small shriek and ran to me, throwing herself into me in a crushing hug. "Oh Christine, you're safe! I was afraid, I was so afraid, but I couldn't do anything! I'm sorry I'm such a coward…"

I could not help but smile as I patted Francine's hair. "I'm alright, Francine, I promise. Someone saved me before anything could happen."

My younger cousin looked up at me with lamp-like eyes. "Who?"

"Erik. The magician that I was looking for."

"The magician?" Francine echoed. "Oh, Christine, how wonderful! You knew he wasn't a bad person, and he wasn't, considering that he saved you from the goodness of his heart! Did you get to speak with him like you wanted?"

I pulled away from Francine, looking out over the garden and the setting sun behind it. "Yes…I suppose you could say that…"

At that moment, I was almost certain that I probably should have taken my chances with the tiger.

**Author's Note:** Yeay, Erik's finally officially on the scene! I also took the time to plan exactly where the plot of this story is going, so I have no reason to not finish it.

The song that Christine sings is called "Nella Fantasia", which is an absolutely gorgeous Italian song. I wasn't able to find the original composer name, or the date, so it might not be historically correct to the fic, but I really didn't want Christine singing "Think of Me" right off the bat. I wanted something with a little more…well, originality to it, I guess it a better word. In case you were wondering about the translations, they are as followed…

_In my fantasy I see a fair world,  
Where everyone lives in peace and honesty.  
I dream of a place to live that is always free,  
Like a cloud that floats,  
Full of humanity in the depths of the soul._

**Orit**** Petra:** Nadir is swoon worthy, isn't he? He's such a great character in all the different versions. Glad to see I'm doing his character justice.

**Mme. Le Fantom:** I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far! Thank you for all your feedback!

**Angels Shall Fall:** Much thanks!

**Lady Skywalker:** If you cut off my fingers, how shall I write? Hmm… I know! I'll type with my nose! Then again, it would only take much longer, but I would make it work, gosh dern it.

**ErisofChaos8:** Yes, I know cries Erik phans are frightening. Good people, though, good people in the long run. And yes, typos are my biggest demons… I'll watch for them in the future!

**MouetteHeartsErik****** I'll watch for those little blurbs. Thanks for your feedback!

****


	4. Chapter Four: My Dark Maestro

**Author's Notes:** Thank you to everyone who reviewed in the last chapter! I'm so glad that you all liked my Erik so much! I have to admit, I'm not that great at writing a really dark Erik, but I'm glad to see he's so far gotten a positive reaction.

Despite what my beta tells me, I'm not happy with this chapter, personally. There were some parts – itty bitter minor smittens of conversation – that simply did not want to be written, hence, the prolonged release of this chapter. To me, the story's feeling horribly rushed, and what should be done in ten chapters is going to be compressed down to about four or five. So, forgiveness for the seeming rushed-ness of the fic, but if it gets too long, you'll become bored and…

Aah, wait, I'm doing that right now, aren't I? Onwards!

But first, another heart-felt thanks to my beta, OritPetra.

**Chapter Four**

**My Dark Maestro**

To think that I wouldn't be punished by my aunt after the previous day's events would have been a fool's hope. As soon as Gisele had left me in the tiger's garden, she had, as I could have guessed, gone straight to my Aunt Celest and told her of my search for Erik, the shah's masked magician. Had we been back in Paris, her most efficient form of punishment would be to condemn me to a day of the most rigorous of house chores with the manor servants, but considering that there was no house to do chores in while my family and I were in Persia, her choices fit for a punishment were limited. The best she could do with the given situation was to commit me to spend the entire day in Rosie's apartments, and was forbidden to leave until dusk that night.

Truth be told, my aunt's punishments never bothered me much, however grisly the hoards of chores might have seemed to her and my cousins. When you live on the road for a number of years, you get used to having dirt under your fingernails. I never told her this, though. Although Aunt Celest never came off as a woman who would raise a hand to anyone, I was not about to press my luck, so to avoid making anything worse for myself, I went to Rosie's apartment without protest or complaints.

This actually turned out to work in my favor; I had been planning to speak with her today anyway. Ever since my first true encounter with Erik the night before, my mind was a swirling quagmire of anxiety and conflicting thoughts, and I desperately needed the advice from the last parental figure I had left in the world.

When I arrived at Rosie's apartment the following morning, she was already coming out of her, her arms ladled down with a tin wash basin that that day's worth of laundry that needed to be washed and mended. She seemed slightly surprised to see me there, wearing a plain brown cotton dress rather the normal day dresses I wore and my hair bound with a white handkerchief, but it was not an unusual sight for her. In fact, she knew exactly what it meant before I even had the chance to explain myself.

"Got yourself in a spot of trouble again, haven't you?" The old woman said brightly, shifting the wash basin in her hands. In turn, I was not surprised that she sounded so happy so see me there, awaiting to carry out my usual punishment for the day. "I figured it was bound to happen sooner than later. You were being peculiarly good-mannered this entire trip, even for you, young lady. Well, come on then, we're starting with the wash today."

I followed Rosie without question to a small courtyard close to her apartment, which had nothing more than a couple of trees, a bench, and a fountain in its limited vicinity. The day was cooler than it usually was in this sweltering country, and the sky was streaked with high clouds that did wonders to keep the worst of the day's heat at bay. Rosie dumped the clothes onto the blue tiled flooring of the small garden, and then proceeded to fill the basin up with water from the fountain. "Christine, Nicola has a bundle of shirts that can do with some mending. Will you please start on those for me, dear?"

Sewing is yet another one of those helpful little skills that I picked up while on the road with my father; we never had enough money to buy new shirts whenever they were needed. I sat myself down on the single bench, the bundle of children's shirts at my right and a small sewing kit to my left, threaded a needle and picked up the first little blouse. Rosie threw a bar of soap into the water basin and started on her own pile of clothing.

For a very long time, neither of us spoke. It would have only been a matter of time before Rosie suspected that something peculiar was going on.

"You're awfully quiet today, Christine. Is there something on your mind?"

"No, not really."

Rosie frowned slightly, the already deep lines around her mouth deepening all the more, but she did not even look up from the shirt she was washing as she spoke. "Rubbish. You're normally chatting these old ears off. Besides, you never told me why your aunt sent you here in the first place. What did you do to land you here today?"

"You make it sound so awful. I don't mind helping you with the laundry." I said nonchalantly, fixing a small pearl button that had been hanging askew. I was aware that Rosie was now staring intently at me without having to look up from my work, waiting for an answer. "I was looking for someone yesterday. Someone that Aunt Celest didn't approve of. Gisele told her as soon as she found out."

"Oh?"

"He's…well, he's the shah's magician. He performed for us during dinner the other night."

"A magician, eh? Well, I can certainly see why your aunt would disapprove."

"I couldn't care less if she did! Rosie, he's no ordinary magician. I know I've seen my share while in the carnivals with my father, but he was…he was like none other that I've ever seen! When he performed the other night –regardless if he considered them parlor tricks or not – it was as if all the magic that was gone from my life since my father died was brought back to me…"

"Christine, are you telling me that you not only went looking for this man, but you spoke to him as well?" At first I could not figure out why Rosie sounded so alarmed, but I had to remind myself – again – that not all people in this world, especially those of "civilized nations", as my uncle liked putting it, did not hold the same respect to magicians and users of magic as I did. Even though Rosie was a devout Catholic, she did not hold the same loathing to magicians as my aunt and cousins did, but I also knew that she was not terribly fond of them, either. Besides, not more than a moment ago she seemed perfectly fine with the fact that I had been looking for him. It was only when I said I had spoken to Erik that she became distressed. Like Francine had been the day before, she had probably just assumed that I had no hope in finding him at all.

I fiddled with the pearl buttons on Nicola's dress, feeling slightly embarrassed. If anyone else had asked me that question, I would have not cared less about what they thought, but for some reason, having Rosie asking it made me feel horribly guilty. "Well…yes. I wanted to thank him. Yes, you heard right," I snapped quickly, taking in the bemused look on Rosie's aged face. "I thanked him for making me feel happy again. I wanted to thank him for making me feel alive again, even if it was only for a few minutes. Was that so wrong?"

"Of course not, dear." Rosie's voice was soft again, calmer this time. "It's just that…well, magicians are can be a dodgy lot, and I don't like the idea of you gallivanting around with their type. Besides, if he's a magician of that boy-king, than he can't be anything but trouble. I dislike the shah and all his associates. The lot of them are nothing but bad souls." She plunged her arms back into the soapy water, scrubbing vigorously at a stain on one of my uncle's numerous shirts. "So you said you spoke to him. Did he say anything back to you?"

I bit my tongue so hard I thought I tasted blood in my mouth. I should have known that Rosie would have disapproved of me being around Erik, but how was I supposed to tell her now that I had a singing lesson (of all things!) with him that very afternoon? Had my aunt told me I was forbidden to go, I would have as soon ignored her as though she had never said anything at all. But if Rosie told me, as the favorite grandmother I never had…

"Nothing. He didn't say anything at all. He didn't even look back at me."

I hated lying to Rosie. It always made me feel so dirty and shameful. Omitting the whole part about the tiger encounter would probably have been for her own good; she probably would have had a heart attack if I told her that I had been locked in a room with a tiger, then throttled Gisele for locking me in there in the first place. As much as I would have liked to see Gisele flipped head over heels by the old woman, it wouldn't have done Rosie any good in the long run once my aunt and uncle found out. But if I told her about the singing lessons and she forbid me from attending, I would have immediately obeyed like an extremely well-mannered child.

_You will learn that I do not take "no" for an answer, mademoiselle. I do not tolerate tardiness. Do not keep me waiting._

If I didn't go to the lesson, I knew that Erik would come looking for me. I was suddenly caught in a terrible conflict. What was worse? To be caught lying to Rosie and face her disappointment, or to miss Erik's lesson and face his wrath?

I did not want to think that Erik would ever want to hurt me, but my rational mind told me to not make such assumptions otherwise.

Woe to fall on the fool who dares to deny a magician's request…

Rosie and I spoke little as we finished up that day's worth of work. Of course, the load of chores was vastly decreased since we were not in my aunt's Paris manor, and so there was nothing to dust, no rugs to beat, no dishes to wash, and no meals to prepare. The laundry and the mending took up most of the day – only because we chose to take our merry time on it, and nothing else – and after that we only had to polish a few pairs of my uncle's shoes.

As five o'clock drew nearer, I found that I was becoming more and more distracted in my work, and my sentences were broken and incomplete whenever Rosie asked me a question. If the work I had to help her with was not complete by four-thirty, at the very latest, then I was going to have to come up with some excuse to get away so I could be at the lesson on-time.

It turned out that luck was on my side that day.

The small clock near the cot that Rosie slept on chimed the four o'clock hour. The old woman set down the shoe she had been polishing, squinting over at the clock's face. "My goodness, is it that late already? Well then, Christine, I think that you've been 'punished' enough today, wouldn't you say? Now, off with you, go enjoy the daylight while it's still here."

It was hard to mask my excitement; I did not want to leave Rosie with the illusion that I was anxious to leave her. I took another moment to help her fold the last of the clothing and replace the lids on the jars of shoe polish before embracing her warmly and promising that I would visit sometime the following day. I left her apartment calmly enough, but as soon as the doors were shut behind me I was off at a near-run, hastily making my way back up to my own chambers to change out of my work clothing and into something a little more decent.

When I returned to my own guest chambers, I was relieved to see that no one else was there; Francine was probably out watching the horses again, and heaven knew where Gisele was – she was probably more than likely to be lounging around in a garden somewhere since the day was getting cooler, and was probably being waited upon hand and foot by half of the palace's servants. I could have cared less what she was actually doing. All I knew was she was not here at the moment, meaning that I could get to my music lesson unhindered. Since most of our meals were taken in our rooms, I did not have to worry about being anywhere else at any particular time, and since I opted to skip most meals anyway, my presence would not be missed by anyone until later in the night. My aunt and cousins probably assumed I was still out in the gardens, or perhaps wandering aimlessly around the palace without any real objection in mind.

However, the events of yesterday had drastically changed the course of my stay here. If I were gone for too long, I know Gisele would become suspicious of me, and more than likely assume that I had gone to try to find Erik again, regardless that I was punished today for that very reason. The last thing I wanted was my cousin and my aunt breathing down my neck at every waking moment…

The best thing to do would be to tell Erik, as soon as I arrived, of this predicament. Two hours, tops, would be the ideal length of time for lessons; get in, get out, before anyone knew I was gone.

_If_ he wanted to continue lessons, that was. Perhaps after just today he would deem me a lost cause, and never want to have anything to do with me again…

I shook the thought from my head. That was the wrong attitude to have right now. Sighing to myself, I untied the handkerchief from my hair and proceeded to change my clothes.

As the hour drew nearer, the more and more anxious I became. By the time it was quarter 'til, my heart was beating so hard within my chest that I could barely tie the laces of my shoes. Finally, I retrieved my little straw hat and carefully placed it upon my carefully pinned-up hair. I quickly examined myself in my vanity mirror, smiling picturesquely at my own reflection. Disliking what I saw, I frowned deeply, pulling the rim of the hat down over my eyes. It always seemed that no matter what I did, I would never be more than a thin, plain mouse of a girl that most men wouldn't even waste a second glance on. This was especially true when I was standing beside Gisele. With her sun-bright hair, smooth, fair complexion and eye-turning figure, my cousin was the type of woman that men would be willing to kill each other over just for her attention.

Besides, it was not as if I was trying to impress Erik. I could probably show up at his chambers covered head to foot in much and he couldn't have cared less, just so long as my voice was still acceptable.

It was with that thought that I was struck with another stomach-sinking revelation. I had no idea where his rooms were, much less how to get to them! And with only ten minutes to spare, I was quickly running out of time.

I began to pace around my rooms nervously, fiddling with the lace trimmings of my dress, trying to figure out what I should do. I could always try to find his residence on my own, but that would only mean getting lost – again – with no way of finding my way back, short of leaving a trail of breadcrumbs behind me.

Then, my luck changed again. On my second rotation around the chamber, I noticed something laying on my bed that I was certain had not been there a moment before. A piece of paper lay on the silken pillow case and written on it, in perfect French, were very clear instructions that led right to Erik's room within the shah's palace. The style of handwriting surprised me however; it was messy, almost childlike, the exact opposite of what I would had expected from him. Perhaps he hadn't written it at all? But, then again, who else would have sent it? My heart gave an excited leap as I scanned over the directions once before I hastily left my chambers without a second backwards glance.

The instructions that I assumed Erik himself had written for me were simple and straight-forward, and in less than the ten minutes I had remaining, I found myself standing before the doors to his rooms. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I reached out with one trembling hand to knock on the dark wood, but my knuckles barely made contact with the highly polished surface when the door swung open seemingly by itself.

I held my breath, prayed I made the right decision, and went inside.

The room beyond was everything that I so far knew to be Erik; dark, mysterious, and absolutely magical. The wide windows and white marble walls were covered in large sheets of velvet and silk in deep burgundy, blocking out the daytime sun and giving the room a very powerful, mystical aura. The chamber itself was full of odd, dark little instruments and contraptions unlike anything I had ever seen before, and multitudes of dark bottles that contained a variety of unknown colored substances. It even smelled of magic, like Persia's native spices and opium that had always been so foreign to Western Europe. The whole of the chamber sent an excited shiver down my spine. Only a true magician would dare to live like this. Anyone else would have been hanged for witchcraft.

I had naturally expected Erik to have been here already, waiting for me to arrive, but as far as I could tell, I was the only one here. I knew I was not incredibly late – the instructions had been too well written for me to take any longer than ten minutes – but Erik was nowhere to be seen, granted that he could be seen at all in the darkened, hazy light of the room. I sighed; there was nothing more that I could do but wait for his return. Taking a seat on a plush Persian cushion, I removed my hat, folded my hands in my lap and waited for my maestro to arrive.

I remained there for what seemed like hours, my anxiety only growing stronger as the minutes ticked away. A thousand thoughts flew threw my mind to why he was not here. Perhaps it was nothing more than being tied up with his duties to the shah and the khanum, which would make sense seeing how valuable an asset he was to the shah's court. Something told me in the back of my mind that Erik was the type of man who held no agenda, but when he told someone to be at a certain place at a certain time, it would be foolish to not heed his call.

A small flash of movement just out of the corner of my eye caught my attention, but it was so quick that I lost it before I could even see what the source was. My heart fluttered in my chest as I held my breath, sitting perfectly still, waiting for another sign of whatever it was that I hadn't seen. Maybe it was just my imagination due to over reactive nerves, until I saw the small flicker again. By now I was on my feet, ready to panic and bolt from that chamber at a moment's notice, lesson or no.

The movement came a third time, only now it was right in front of me and in full view. I found myself staring into a pair of vibrant blue eyes that gazed intensely back at me. Once my heart rate began to return to normal, I realized that I was not staring at some unknown monster, but at a cat, and it was positively the strangest looking cat that I had ever seen. Its coat was a warm cream color, sleek and silky looking, which faded into a deep chocolate color on its paws and around its pointed face. The most beautiful of collars encircled its slender neck, made out of what appeared to be real diamonds. I had read about this breed before – Siamese, was it? – but I had never actually seen a real one. Being the cat lover that I was, my fear quickly ebbed into delight, and I smiled despite myself.

"Well, hello there!" I said cheerfully, laughing away my own foolishness. "You certainly gave me a scare. Do you belong to Erik? You're probably the prettiest kitty I've ever seen, so I wouldn't be surprised…" I reached out one hand, fingers extended to let the cat sniff them to show it that I meant no harm, but to my surprise the cat suddenly arched its back, hissed, then made a leaping lunge towards my face. I felt claws graze my face; not enough to hurt, but it certainly did sting. I whipped around, following to cat's path to see it perched on a bookshelf just behind me, dark tail lashing and fur raised.

"Do not patronize me, stupid girl." The cat growled at me in a voice that was clearly female. "Touch me again, and I'll cut your face to ribbons."

Out of all the strange and fantastic things I had seen in Persia – Erik included – nothing had quite prepared me for a talking cat, and I gasped in spite of myself, reeling backwards. "You…you…you can talk!"

"Of course I can talk, you silly girl." The cat snapped down at me. "All cats can talk. Most humans just aren't honored enough for us to waste our time on."

I wasn't sure if I wanted to laugh or frown. She had to belong to Erik. She sounded just like him.

"What are you doing here anyway, girl?" the cat suddenly demanded. _Pushy little thing, isn't she? She has the exact same demeanor as a queen…_

"I…well, that is…" For whatever the reason, talking to a cat suddenly seemed very, very difficult. "Erik told me to come…"

"Erik would do no such thing!" The cat spat down at me, cutting me off before I had the chance to fully explain myself. "He had far more important things to do than to waste his time on a country bumpkin like you! Leave, and leave now!"

Now I was beginning to feel insulted. Just who was this…this _cat_…that thought it could order me around like I was some idiot! "Now wait just a moment!" I shot back, but dared not come any closer to the agitated animal. She did look very well like she was ready to claw my nose off at the slightest instant. "Why would I be here if Erik _hasn't_ sent me here? I know better than to just go barging into people's rooms without permission!"

"Lies," the cat hissed. "Human girls are always so curious, and then hide behind their false innocence once they've done something wrong. Filthy, lying little chits, the lot of you! Leave, now, before my master returns. I can promise you that what he does to you will be much worse than _I_ can ever do once he finds out you've intruded in his private rooms!"

Tears of frustration pricked the back of my eyes. I could not believe this was happening! Here I was, standing in the middle of the room of a man I barely knew, arguing with this _cat_ that was beginning to sound like his very over-protective and jealous lover! I had half a mind to grab her off the shelf by the scruff of her neck and shake her when a voice from behind us cut me off before I could utter a single word. "Ayesha? What's going on in here?"

My heart leapt to my throat as I spun around to see Erik standing not more than a few feet aside from me. The fact that he had come in so silently without either me or the cat knowing until he spoke sent a chill up my spine, adding to Erik's mysterious nature all the more. He didn't seem angry or surprised at me for being here – _why would he be, he told you to come himself! –_ but I still had the strongest urge to explain my presence in his chamber. I opened my mouth to speak, but the cat beat me to it, leaping gracefully off the bookshelf to perch on Erik's shoulder, rubbing her pointed head affectionately against his masked cheek.

"Oh Erik, thank goodness you're back!" The cat whined, glaring pointed at me, blue eyes glowing in the mystical light of the room. "This awful girl came barging into the room without bothering to knock, then proceeded to lie and tell me that _you_ sent her here, even after I asked her to leave!"

Anger flooded my rational thought as I stamped my foot indignantly. "You miserable little beast! I wasn't lying! And if I remember correctly, it was _you_ who were being so horribly rude, first demanding that I leave, then accusing me of lying about it!"

The cat arched her back on Erik's shoulder, spitting at me and preparing to leap had Erik not seized her around the middle, pulling her down into his arms and stroking her fur soothingly. "Calm yourself, Ayesha. It's all right. I did ask Mademoiselle Daaé to come here today for a singing lesson. If you promise not to interfere, I'll make it up to you later."

The cat – Ayesha, as Erik called her – did not seem at all pleased with Erik's peace offering. Instead she only growled, glared at me once more, before leaping out of his arms and stalking away into the red shadows.

I remained silent for several long moments, waiting for Erik to speak. I felt so ashamed, loosing my tempter at a cat. He probably thought I was a child, if he had not already thought that before.

"Do not judge Ayesha too harshly. She dislikes strangers." Erik began casually, choosing several books off the shelf that Ayesha had been sitting on. At first, I was surprised he wasn't chiding me about yelling at his cat, until he said, in a slightly firmer tone; "I would also appreciate it that you wouldn't insult her. She's the only family I have in this world."

"I…I'm sorry. Forgive me." I said meekly, rotating the straw hat slowly between my fingers, like a child who had just been scolded.

"Just let her be in the future. You were very close to loosing your ears. Now, shall we?"

By now, my knees were shaking so badly I could barely stand, let alone follow him through the darkened room. I had half a mind to leave right then and there, to run away from this man and his overly possessive cat and not look back, but some unknown force compelled me to stay. Erik still did not come off as being very dangerous or threatening to me; perhaps that was why I had no desire to run, although every moment I remained with him, I felt compelled to learn more about him.

What sort of secrets was he hiding under that mask, inside his soul…?

I followed Erik over to, of all things, a master piano sitting in the center of the floor off to one side of the chambers. I'm not sure why seeing the piano there caught me as being odd. Perhaps because it was so out of place in this country; a European instrument in the middle of a palace of a middle-eastern kingdom. The piano itself was absolutely stunning. It's rich, dark wood had hardly was highly polished and didn't have a single blemish upon it, and the white ivory keys gleamed in the weak light. I had never seen a more magnificent piano in my entire life. I almost wished, at that moment, that my father had been there to seen it. If anyone could appreciate such a masterful piece of work, it would be him.

"You seem surprised." Erik stated, propping the books open just over the keys of the piano.

"Well, a little…" I mused, reaching out as if to touch the wood, only to pull back my hand at the last moment, as if my touch would somehow soil it. "I just haven't seen one as of yet since we've been here. I didn't even think that there would be any pianos in Persia."

"There aren't many, true. I had to import this one from Germany. I might be in the service of the shah and his mother, but I refused to let them deny me of my music. Being in a position of power does have it advantages." I only nodded dumbly, not sure what to say in response. "Now then, I assume you are familiar with the basic of warn-up scales?"

"It's been a long time." I admitted shyly.

"Can you read music?"

"A little. From what my father taught me. But, like I said, it's been a long while since I've had any practice."

_Not since Papa died…_

Erik smirked a little, but I could not tell if it was in good humor or silent mockery. "Well then, we'll just have to refresh your memory, won't we?"

We started with the most basic of scales, the ones my father had taught me when I was still a child. C-major, F-major…scales that I would remember even if I lived to be a hundred years old. Once, and one time only (only because he told me he would only show me once, no exceptions), Erik rose from the bench to stand behind me, guiding me wordlessly into what he probably considered the ideal singer's stance. This was new to me, and rather uncomfortable on top of that; back straight, shoulders back, tummy in, chin up, but don't lock at the knees… I felt a shiver run down my spine as he placed his hands on my arms, at the small of my back, under my chin, but I soon realized that he was only touching the air around me, guiding me without physically touching me at all. Was I so intrigued by him that he had so much power over me?

It was not until after he sat back down on the piano bench that I released the breath I had not been aware I was holding, but I dared not move.

We continued onwards with the scales and warm-up exercises, quickly moving from what I had been familiar with to exercises that grew in complexity and that I often found myself fumbling over the notes in frustration and nerves. Each time I would miss a note, Erik would immediately stop the exercise, chiding me for not concentrating before asking – no, ordering me – to try again. During the majority of the lesson, I felt much like a child being scolded for something I had been told not to do a hundred times over before, and I had to blink back the prickle of tears more than once.

The grueling warm-ups lasted for near two hours, greatly prolonged by the number of times we had to stop and start again due to my errors. During the course of the evening, I was waiting for Erik's patience to finally give out, but if he was loosing his tolerance he didn't let it show. By the time he decided we were done with the exercises, my voice was now plenty warmed-up, and rather raw on top of that. Without saying a word, he opened up one of the books sitting just above the keyboard of the piano. "Are you familiar with Faust, Mademoiselle Daaé?" Erik asked without so much as looking at me, his voice flat and betraying no emotion.

I felt my heart perk up in a newfound confidence. My father had taught me some of the songs of that particular opera. Although we did not have the money to attend any of the performances after my mother died, it did not mean that he could not pass down his love of the opera to me. "Yes, but only with Marguerite's part."

Erik nodded, as if that answer alone seemed to satisfy him. "Very well, then. Do you know her part from scene two of act five?"

"Yes."

"Begin there, then. I would like to hear how your voice fairs in a real opera."

So I sang for him, as much as I could remember from the requested scene, but since it felt like centuries since I last sang properly, and therefore I missed several notes and cues out of sheer forgetfulness. Unlike the warm-ups, however, Erik did not stop me, or chide me for making such mistakes. He was testing me, I was sure, testing my untrained potential that even I did not know I possessed, if it existed at all. A maestro testing his student…

Or a hawk watching its prey. It was hard to tell exactly what thoughts lay behind those golden eyes.

The aria came to an end, and silence shrouded the room with its own powerful presence. I waited for his evaluation of my performance, holding my breath tight within my chest. Erik sat rigid at the piano, his fingers still poised over the last keys struck when the song ended, eyes closed in thought. Searching for the right words, perhaps, to let me down easily? I dropped my eyes away from him, bracing myself for his displeasure and dismissal.

"You certainly managed to put yourself into an interesting predicament, mademoiselle." Erik said at last, his voice still void of emotions. "You possess perfect pitch and clarity – you've already proven that to me once before – but the sheer lack of soul and passion you put into it makes it nearly…painful to listen to, and that's being generous. I was hoping that it was only from being unprepared when I requested you to sing yesterday, but I can see now I wasn't that fortunate."

Erik's words stung more than I had expected, but I said nothing, continuing to look down at my feet so he could not see the tears that threatened to form in my eyes. "It's hard to sing with soul when you have nothing to sing for." I said meekly, my voice so quiet that I was not sure if he had heard me. If he did, he made no sign of it.

"And you never had a lesson before in your life?"

"Only what my father told me." I began to feel like I was repeating myself. My throat was beginning to feel raw and scratchy, and I was beginning to wish for nothing more than a hot cup of tea to sooth it. "My mother came from a wealthy family, but she became estranged from my grandparents when she announced she was marrying my father, which meant cutting off her financial ties. She died shortly after I was born. When I was ten, my father and I were evicted from the flat we lived in, so we were turned to the streets. A traveling carnival of musicians and magicians found us, and we traveled with them until he died. Some of the performers in the carnival would give me pointers every now and again, but those didn't count. Since I was never part of the show, they never really bothered to give me their time." I sighed, running my fingers absently over the rich wood of the piano.

I continued: "After my father died, my grandfather – my mother's father – eventually learned of her death. He felt awful about disowning her, and when he learned about me, he felt it was his responsibility to take me in. He was nice enough to me, as if he was trying to make up the time he had lost with my mother, but about six months after I was sent to live with him, he died as well, leaving me with his only son and his wife; my Aunt Celest. Before my grandfather died, he made them both swear that they would take care of me, as a final respect to him and my mother. But the man she's with now is her second husband; my mother's brother died about two years back. I'm surprised she hasn't attempted to ship me off to a boarding house yet."

"And you feel that your father's death gives you an excuse to sing in such a disgraceful manner?"

I whirled around at him, anger flaring in my chest, finally meeting his eyes for the first time in hours. Those golden orbs remained indifferent and uncaring, and he had asked that dreadful question in the same demeanor of someone asking if we would be expecting rain that day. "Oh course it is! My father was all I had ever known, and I loved him more than anything else in this world! What's the good of living if you have nothing to live for?"

Some unspoken emotion flashed in Erik's eyes, something that seemed a mix of barely contained anger and a soul crushing sadness and grief. My anger dissolved as quickly as it had come, and I found myself wishing I could take back my words. I half-expected for Erik to come back with some sort of retaliation, a harsh barrage of words that would leave me a simpering mess…but he only rose from the bench in one fluid motion, his back turned towards me so I could no longer look into his eyes.

"I have been asking myself that question for a very long time, Mademoiselle Daaé."

I was shrouded in a thick, paralyzing cloak of guilt when he spoke those words. The emotion I had seen in his eyes not more than a moment before was now mirrored through his voice. The sheer amount of loneliness and unregistered sadness in that beautiful, otherworldly voice was enough for me to feel like the worse person in the world for asking such a question.

"Surely…there has to be something." I began slowly, choosing my words carefully. When Erik remained silent, I warily pushed forward. "Or someone? What about your father? Or your mother?"

It had been the wrong thing to say. Erik rounded on me as though I had indeed asked the worse question in the world; his lips were pulled back in a furious snarl, his eyes flashing behind the mask. I found myself stumbling backwards, trying to put as much space between us without truly running away. "_Never_ ask that question again! You are not to speak of your faery-tale family relations in my presence again, do you understand? Not everyone was _blessed_ with such fortune. You have no right to lament over what you lost when there are people in the world who were not fortunate enough to have it to begin with!"

Words failed me as fear flooded me. For that very brief instance, I was afraid to be in the same room with his man whose moods changed without notice and a temper as unstable as a powder keg. All I wanted at that moment was to leave, to get away from him, and I desperately searched for an excuse to do so.

"I…I'm sorry." I stammered, feeling very stupid in my meager form of an apology. "I won't speak of it again, I swear. May I go now, please? It's getting late, and my cousins will begin to suspect that I'm up to something…"

Erik's anger cooled down significantly when he spoke again, although there was still a dangerous edge to his voice. He still would not look at me. "In the future, you will not be dismissed until I dismiss you." _In the future?_ Did that mean he expected me to return, even after that frightening outburst of anger? "But it is getting late. Tomorrow we will continue with where we left off today."

I silently released the breath I was holding, unsure if I was more relieved that he was no longer angry with me – not outwardly, at least – or that he had not given up in my voice lessons. "Yes sir." I said humbly, then turned to leave.

"And, mademoiselle," Erik called after me, his voice still hard. "If you insult Ayesha again, or ask about my past, I can guarantee you that you won't be coming back."

I said nothing as I left his chambers.

I got about half-way back to my own rooms before stopping my quick stride and sinking to the floor in a quiet indignant manner, resting my forehead on my knees as I tried to will myself to stop shaking.

_Erik…Erik…Erik…_

_Who are you Erik? What are you? And what happened to you to inspire such sadness, such loneliness, such anger? When I looked into your eyes…it felt like I would never feel joy again… Will you ever show me what's really in your heart?_

_Or am I asking for a death wish by asking that of you?_

_Maybe I'm not ready to know yet…_

_Will I ever be?_

I don't know how long I sat there, curled up around myself, debating on my return to Erik's lessons or not the following night, and the night after that. There was so much more to this masked magician than anyone else I had ever known in my life, or that I had dared to dream about. He was like the ocean, like the cosmos, too compelling for humans comprehend, far too powerful for one measly little girl like myself could ever hope to understand. I had only known him for a day, and I already was beginning to feel lost in his presence, wallowing in his storm of emotions and secrets. How long would it be before I was at last swept away by him, unable to find my way back to the world I knew, the world I was safe in?

Or was I already too late?

**Author's Ending Note:** Yeay for Ayesha! She doesn't get enough fic time. Of course, I can't help but to feel a trifle foolish for putting her in. There's a thread on PFN that expands on the thought of Disney making their own version of PotO, and one of the jokes within that topic is Disney slapping Erik with a talking cat companion. But, I felt it would fit this story a little more; the fantasy emphasis has to be emphasized somehow.

Also, I guess there's some confusion I should clear up. I've had a couple of people ask me when and where they would be seeing the Miazaki influence within the story. What I actually was referring to was not one particular Miazaki movie in general, but rather to his style of storytelling and the overall mood and worlds he creates, especially in movies such as _Spirited Away_ and _Howl's Moving Castle_. Both of these movies have very real-world aspects in them, and he makes him so incredibly fantastic it might as well be a whole other world altogether. In other words, this fic isn't a reflection of one of his movies in particular, but more of his style in general. If you've ever seen any of his movies, you'd know what I'm referring too. The two I mentioned aren't the only movies of his you can see to know what I'm alluding to. Any would do, he's a fantastic storyteller and has a wonderful imagination.

The part with Christine looking at herself in the mirror and then pulling the hat down over her eyes is a direct allusion to _Howl's Moving Castle_, where the main protagonist, Sophie, does the same. I thought the part was cute, so I had to put it in. The Christine in this story isn't a drop-dead beauty like she's usually referred as, but is rather much more average in appearance.

The next chapter is actually the first interval; a chapter that's not told from Christine's POV. Most of these will be rather short, so I'll see if I can't get that out by the end of the week. No promises, though.

**Orit**** Petra:** I'm glad Erik made such an impact during that one scene. I'm glad I decided to go with that than what I originally had planned. And Nadir will return; he plays a hefty part in the storyline, and isn't just there to smack Erik's hand when he's done something wrong.

**Miss Daae:** I knew it was a Sarah Brightman song, but I actually heard it for the first time off my Celtic Women CD, which is a much prettier version IMO. And yes, Erik has made his return!

**Golden Lyre:** Yes, Orit's a sweetie, and I'm so glad she agreed to beta this for me. I really enjoyed your fic as well. Thanks for reviewing!

**MouetteHeartsErik****** Thank you for your feedback on Erik! Also, thank you for adding me to your C2 site!

**Kates****** Yeay, my first SQUEE! Waaah, I didn't realize you were that Kates until I looked at your profile! I absolutely loved _Le Fantome et la Belle_, it was so well done! I'm glad you seem to be enjoying this as much as I enjoyed your fic!

**Aragornnme****** Thanks for your comments, it took some time to work out exactly how it was going to work.

**Patiens-liberi****** Wow, I don't even know where to begin, lol. Thanks for pointing out my redundancies, it's one of those writing demons I can't seem to get rid of. I'll make sure I'll watch out for them more in the future. Also, thank you for all your comments on All Forgiving!

**YoukoElfMaiden****** I hope you enjoyed the first lesson. And yes, evil Giselle. Don't worry, she'll get hers, in one way or another.

**AngelofSilence1881:** Another squee! Thanks much!

**Lady Skywalker:** Yes, I'm going to try really hard to not make this into a sappy Erik story. It's just a tad out of bounds for him. I just hope I can keep him in character now that so many people seem to like the Erik I created for this fic. Sorry for the delay in updates!

**ErisofChaos8:** He does seem to be everyone's "my Erik", isn't he? Thanks for reviewing!


	5. Interlude One: Cat's Cradle

**Author's Note:** Wow, two updates in the space of a week. That's like, a record for me. But, don't be rejoicing too much, this is a really, really short chapter. However, I would have rather this chapter to be shorter in order to make the other one longer. I feel that what needed to be said was said in this chapter, and so there was no reason to drag it out. I was also surprised at the strong mixed reaction to Ayesha; none if it bad, however. Don't worry, for ye who are skeptical. She does play a major role later on in the story, so it's nothing something I coughed up for kicks.

**Interlude One**

**Cat's Cradle**

When that girl first arrived, unannounced and uninvited, into Erik's room for the first time, Ayesha had not been too incredibly worried. Startled, perhaps, but not worried. Regardless of what she said, or what Erik had been planning when he met the silly girl, Ayesha had not expected her to stay very long. It would only have been a matter of time before he would have grown tired of her and forbid her from coming back.

Ayesha had silently prayed that after the first night, especially after the stupid girl had the nerve to ask about Erik's past, that she would have been too afraid to return after seeing a glimpse at her maestro's temper.

That had been two weeks ago, and the girl had returned almost every night since then.

From where she sat on top of one of Erik's numerous bookshelves, Ayesha narrowed her blue eyes dangerously, her tail twitching slowly as she watched her master and his ward below. The cat growled in the back of her throat. What did he see in this girl? What was it about her that made him feel that he was obligated to spend his time on her, that she was _worthy_ of his time at all?

Erik paused in the middle of their current aria, berating the girl for something she was either doing wrong or not doing at all. Ayesha really wasn't sure, nor did she care, and only continued to seethe in disdain at the girl from the shadows. If that stupid girl knew what was better for her, then she would pay closer attention to Erik and would not have to make such mistakes! She should have known what an honor it was to be tutored by him at all, that her existence was _acknowledged_ by him at all! The gall of her to openly make mistakes before him, to ask – ask, not beg! – for his forgiveness for every mistake she made.

Erik had killed men for less disobedience than he was showing her! Why was she getting off so easily?

A sudden revelation came over the cat, a vivid memory that made the pale hair on her hackles stand on end.

Was that the reason why he kept summoning her here? Even after…Luciana?

It would happen again…and he did not even seem to sense it!

She would not see her beloved Master hurt again…

Ayesha kept in her hiding place until at long last, Erik dismissed the girl, giving her a light compliment on her vast improvement. _Erik? Complimenting that little chit? No one before had ever been worthy of his praise…_

By the time the girl finally left the chambers, Ayesha leapt gracefully from her perch, silently making her way across the room and jumping back onto the piano bench. Erik soon joined her, giving her an affectionate scratch at just the right place behind her ears before turning his attention back to the piano, playing a piece that was notably more light-hearted than what he usually played. Ayesha felt a pang of dread settle into her little cat's belly. Her master was being transformed by that scheming little vixen, and he didn't even realize it! With a growl of frustration, Ayesha jumped off the bench and onto the piano keys, creating a horrible sound that cut off Erik's playing in mid-chorus.

"What are you thinking, Erik?" the cat demanded before her master could question her actions.

"Ayesha?" Erik questioned softly, looking at the Siamese in mild surprise. "What's gotten into you?" He reached out for her, but she only leapt higher out of his reach, perching on the edge of the piano's open center.

"Don't play coy with me!" Ayesha demanded. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! That girl…that mousy little slip of a girl…what possessed you to bring _her_ here and disturb what we already have?"

Erik's eyes softened in relief, and he chuckled quietly. "Is that what's had you so upset the last few days? It was all over Christine?"

Ayesha harrumphed, sitting down pointedly on the edge of the piano and refusing to look her master in the eyes.

"My dear, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. Christine is only a student to me. Nothing more, nothing less. You shouldn't be so jealous."

"Jealous? I never said I was jealous! I just _know_ you Erik, I know how you are! I know how passionate you can be, how obsessed you'll become with your little pet project. It will be just like Luciana all over again!"

That certainly got his attention. Erik's luminous golden eyes became dark and hard, and he abruptly stood from the piano bench. "Christine is not Luciana."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Luciana was after me to take off my mask from day one. Christine hasn't so much as asked about it."

"What difference does it make!" Ayesha hissed. "All little girls are the same, Erik! Just because she doesn't speak of it, doesn't mean she's not bloody well _thinking _of it! How do you know she won't just up and snatch it off you in the middle of one of your lessons? What then Erik? What then?"

"Silence, Ayesha!" Erik rounded on her, his voice thundering off the walls of the vast chamber. "Any more talk of this and you'll find yourself sleeping outside tonight, do you understand me?"

Ayesha cowered backwards, ears drooping and tail falling between her legs, a true look of hurt in her vibrant blue eyes from her master's rage. She had not meant to anger him. At the sight of the feline's fear, Erik's eyes immediately softened with unspoken guilt as he reached out once more for the cat. "Ayesha…forgive me."

Ayesha leapt gracefully from the piano into her master's arms, nuzzling affectionately against his shoulder as Erik stroked her silky fur with his long fingers. "You don't have to worry about a thing, love." He told the cat gently. "I will not be pulled in by another again, regardless if she is like Luciana or not. Besides, she won't be here forever. Her uncle is mere friends of the shah, but it won't be long until they returned from where they came."

"You have to promise you won't regret when she leaves."

"If there's nothing to get attached to, there will be nothing to regret." Erik said, letting Ayesha down from his arms before he walked over to one of the covered windows of his room, pulling back the wine-red velvet curtain that blocked most of the harsh Persian daytime light. He had always preferred the darkness. Trying to create such an environment in a land scorched by the sun through the majority of the year had proven to be tricky, but he pulled it off to the best of his abilities. "Hope is for the weak and dreams for the foolish. And love…love is nothing but God's greatest lie. Luciana taught me at least that much."

"I'm still here, Erik." Ayesha said softly.

Erik looked down at his feline companion, his true friend and his one and only family in the world. "I know, Ayesha. I know. And you're more than even I deserve."

_Love was God's greatest lie…_

Sitting at the window, Erik shoved all thoughts of Christine from his mind. The sun would soon set, the moon was rising, and he needed to stretch his wings.

**Author's Note:** Short, but nonetheless meaningful. E/C fluff to come to next chapter.

**Lothiel****** I know, I'm horrid when it comes to updating. Hope this one makes up for it.

**MouetteHeartsErik****** I'm so glad you like talking Ayesha! And yes, fluff at the first lesson would have been too soon. Yeay for dramatic tension!

**YoukoElfMaiden****** I'm actually just as surprised that everyone else was surprised by her. But, I suppose that's something I should have expected, lol. My username on PFN is Omega WEAPON, but I'm not that much of a frequent poster. I tend to haunt the art section, mostly.

**Orit**** Petra:** Lovelove. The worlds need more lovelove. Thanks for you encouragement and support, as always! Lovelove!

**Lady Skywalker:** Woot for freaky Erik. And here I thought I wasn't making him dark enough. A "squee" is a term used on PFN to describe the sound of excitement made when your favorite phics are updated. There are numerous threads there called the "fic squeeing" threads. I was hoping I would write a fic worthy enough of at least one squee. So, once again, thanks for being the first!


	6. Chapter Five: Walking in the Air

**Author's Note:** Oh man, I am on a roll. Not only is this my third chapter in two weeks, but this one was written in the space of a day. But, this is more than likely a one-time deal. This is a chapter that I've been planning on writing for a while, which is a huge drive behind motivation. I am overall pleased with how this one came out. I hope you enjoy it as well, my dear readers.

Another million and one thanks to my beta, OritPetra.

**Chapter Five**

**Walking in the Air**

****

It was amazing, really.

Two weeks ago, I had despised all of Persia; the country, the city its palace. I lived day by day counting down the time before we returned to Paris. But now I looked forward to each day in a new light, anxiously abiding my time until the five o'clock hour approached.

My earlier skepticism regarding singing lessons with Erik had vanished. Now they might as well have my new purpose of living. His lessons rekindled my love of music, released the shackles that my father's death had locked on my heart and soul – setting me free in ways that I had never known before.

Of course, they were not all peaches and cream. As I had suspected, the first lesson was a mere prelude in what was to come. Erik was a hard and arduous teacher, demanding perfection from my every attempt at a scale or aria. He harshly reprimanded every error on my part, whether I was aware of making a mistake or not, then made me re-practice the same measure over and over until my throat was raw, or until I finally performed to his liking. Of course, this did nothing for my nerves, and I would be so worried about pleasing him that I would fumble and make mistakes due to stress alone. Had I not been restrained by the suspicion and risky discovery of my cousins and aunt – who, I was sure by now, were wondering where I disappeared to every evening, I was sure Erik would have kept me in his chambers until the early hours of the morning until his satisfaction was sated.

At least for that session, that is. Then the whole cycle would start all over again the following evening.

There were nights – far more than once or twice – when I would leave the chamber in near tears, twisted in frustration at both myself and at my maestro, swearing to myself that the emotional abuse was not worth it, and that I would not be returning the following evening.

But I always returned. By now, it was not the threat of Erik's disappointment that held me to it.

For as trying as the lessons were, all my regrets were immediately thrown to the wind on my few good nights; those rare and golden moments where it seemed that there was nothing I could do wrong. Receiving praise from Erik meant more to me than if the king of France himself had complimented me on my singing…if I ever had the chance to sing for him. Of course, praise from Erik was never anything more than a "well done", but it gave me a fresh wave of self-confidence and filled me with an inner light that made me feel as if nothing could go wrong in the world. And on the nights we sang together…

Oh, there are no words to describe those few times where Erik and I rose our voices together, singing the duets from such operas such as _Aïda_…there was no other experience in the world like it. Erik has once told me that I had a voice to make the seraphs themselves jealous, when it fact it was his voice that would have made them seethe with envy. How was it possible for anyone to have such a voice?

_If his voice was the last thing I heard before I died, then I would die happy…_

I shook my head, clutching my book closer to me. That was a bit of a drastic thought, even for my busy imagination. His voice might have been no less than heavenly, but I was in no mood to die just yet.

I made my way diligently back to Erik's chamber, trying not to draw attention to myself. I was fortunate in the sense that not many people seemed to come down this way, so there was no one to ask me where I was going, or to be suspicious of my destination. The book I brought with me was nothing more than a decoy. Gisele was the first to inevitably notice my absences in the early evening hours, and I quickly learned it was essential to find some sort of ploy to keep her from either following me, or telling her mother that I was "up to something", as she would put it, no doubt. The book became my excuse to my disappearances, and I told her I was going to read in the gardens for some fresh air. To my surprise, this excuse seemed to satisfy her, partly because I was no longer pouting around our shared chambers, and that she now had them all to herself. Gisele's own outrageous self-interest far outweighed her need to follow up on her suspicions. There was always the chance that she would one day grow bored and come looking for me in means of entertainment through harassment, but there were so many garden and courtyards within the palace that the chances of her finding me were rare, even if she managed to check every one. Long before my lessons with Erik, when we had first arrived in Persia, I had taken to hiding beneath the canopy of small trees and bushes in the gardens for my own privacy and the coolness of the shade, and there had been more than one account of Gisele passing not more than five feet in front of my hiding spot and never seeing me. It seemed that I had developed a knack for making myself disappear from my family's eyes. My privacy to continue my lessons with Erik was thus ensured.

I did not know what to expect from lesson to lesson – would it be another good lesson, where I would leave feeling like I was at the top of the world, or would it end in tears? – but I was anxious for it to begin all the same. It had been a particularly bad day today, and I needed to vent my frustration. Nicola had managed to spill pomegranate juice all over one of Gisele's finest dresses, and I was blamed for not watching the rambunctious five-year old more closely. The majority of the day was spent in the painstaking process of trying to remove the awful stain by hand with Gisele breathing down my neck for the first two hours, complaining loudly on how careless and clumsy I was. Soon, she grew bored with the harassment and left me to my chore. Francine arrived not more than ten minutes after her sister's departure, and assisted me removing with the stain from the gown's material. By the time we had finished with aching backs and arms, it was nearly time for my lesson, meaning I had to sneak away from Francine, who wanted to join me in the gardens that evening. I felt guilty leaving my cousin behind, and made a mental note to make it up to her tomorrow. I did not doubt that of all my family, Francine had the strongest suspicion to my nightly escapes, but I trusted her enough to not have the courage to say anything to my aunt or to Gisele, especially after that fated day when my oldest cousin locked me in the room with the tiger.

I turned a corner, and once the doors to Erik's chambers came into sight, my heart gave an excited leap, my pace quickening. I vaguely wondered to myself what he would have me sing tonight. We had already covered some of the more well-known operas, but I did not question that Erik had a collection of lesser-known operas that he would have me try…

My thoughts were cut off when a man stepped out from behind one of the pillars, blocking my entrance into Erik's chambers.

I gave a small squeak of surprise, stopping dead in my tracks as my heart pounded in my chest. Then I recognized the man as none other than Nadir Kahn, and my anxiety quickly subsided. At least it was someone I knew, and for that I was relieved, but judging by the look on his face, I could tell I was not going to enjoy this encounter.

"I can see you haven't taken my word to heart, Miss Daaé." He said gravely, arms crossed before him.

A sudden wave of guilt passed through me. Two weeks ago, when I had been searching for Erik after his performance at dinner with the shah, Nadir Kahn had warned me about Erik – that he was potentially dangerous, both as a man and through his ties with the shah and the khanum. Despite his warning – I had still gone to look for Erik, who ended up finding me in the tiger's courtyard, but I further denied the Daroga's warning by taking up lessons with the very same man he told me to stay away from. "M-monsieur…I…I…" But trying to defend myself was a loss cause. I could not deny my lessons, or my current location, just outside Erik's doors. I hung my head in shame. "Forgive me, monsieur. I knew of your warnings, and yet I haven't heeded them."

Nadir's expression softened the smallest bit. I could tell he was a stern man by nature and by carrier, but he seemed to be the type who could not enforce it against anyone unless he had to. "Erik told me of your lessons."

"Yes, monsieur, that is where I was headed."

"At first, I was not sure what to make of it. But, in all honesty, Miss Daaé, he has been in a far better temperament than I have ever seen him in before."

At his words, my spirit considerably lifted. "Has he said anything else?"

"He has told me that you have an angel's voice, even if there was still much room for improvement. He might not show it, but he is fond of you, if it is only as a student." By now I could not help but grin, knowing that my maestro's views on me were not all stone and ice, and an involuntary blush spread across my cheeks. Nadir Khan continued; "That gives me even greater reason to fear for your safety."

My smile immediately disappeared. "What?" I asked, my joy suddenly gone.

"I have told you before, Miss Daaé, of the dangers of getting close to Erik. The Grand Vizier is out for Erik's blood. The court of Mazanderan is like a spider's web, child, and when you find yourself caught up in it, there is no escape. I shudder to think of what will happen if the Vizier finds out of your involvement of Erik. Or, worse yet, if the khanum finds out. She is extremely possessive of her possessions, and will go to any length to make sure that they remain in check."

I knew that Nadir was only trying to invoke such fear in me for my own protection. When he did so two weeks ago, it had worked, but his attempt to do so now, whether it was in my best interest or not, would not sway me this time. "Erik belongs to no one. She is a fool to think otherwise." I said defiantly, wondering where in the world those words had come from. Nadir paled, as if he were afraid the khanum was hiding behind one of the pillars around us, listening into our conversation. "Besides, I'm not afraid of her or the Grand Vizier."

"You should be, Miss Daaé. You should be." Nadir said darkly, and I felt a chill run down my spine. "But it is not only them that concerns me. I am also worried of what will happen if you grow closer to Erik. What you will think if you, by chance, learn more about him. He is no hero from a faery tale. Erik holds more secrets than the entire Mazanderan court put together, secrets that have shunned him from human emotion and compassion. I greatly fear what will happen, if he happened to become even more attached to you, and you as well reject him as so many others have."

By now I was becoming insulted. "Do I really appear to be that shallow, monsieur?" I demanded.

"Do you fear Erik, Miss Daaé?"

His question took me by surprise. "Only when he is angry."

"I have seen the full wrath of his anger, Miss Daaé. What you have seen was barely the surface. I would like to think that you would be spared the worst of it, seeing that you are a woman, but if Erik were every betrayed…" He visibly shivered, as if recalling a memory that he would rather have forgotten. He would not look at me when he spoke next. "Erik may seem like a man of little emotion, but I have heard him speak in his sleep. Even the coldest men can have the most delicate of hearts."

My own heart ached in sympathy for the masked magician, and my demons of curiosity raged at me to ask Nadir of what he heard, of what terrible secrets there were in Erik's life that made him the way he was. I even opened my mouth to do so, but Nadir cut me off before I had the chance to get a single word out.

"Erik is a changeling, Miss Daaé."

I felt a shock pass through me as the word rung in my ears. I tried to get a mental grasp on it, to make sure if I had heard right. "A…a changeling?"

"Yes."

_A changeling. _For some reason, it all made perfect sense. Changelings might have been rare, but they were not entirely uncommon to the magical community. Only magicians were changelings; magicians who had, sometime along their lives, developed very inhuman characteristics due to their talents. The more talented ones could hide their transformations, but during my time in the carnivals, it was not that unusual to see a passing magician with a long cat's tail appearing from under their robes, or a regal pair of horns growing from their heads. Even among the magical and the unique, changelings were still rather ostracized, and normal society hated them all the more. Old world legends spoke of changelings bringing great deals of bad luck, and they were often linked to misfortune and great ill activity. Erik did not seem to be related to any of the old wives' tales, but it certainly explained a thing or two about his mysterious nature. I suppose that, in the long run, I was really not all that surprised.

"No one else knows of this, however." Nadir continued, shaking me out of my own thoughts. "If anyone of the Mazanderan court discovered that about him, he would most likely be tortured and killed for such treason, and probably by the khanum's own orders. I trust that you tell no one else what I just told you."

"Then why did you tell me?"

"Because you have a right to know, before you find out the wrong way, and the secret is exposed. So you have the choice…to continue with the lessons or not, knowing what you know now."

Nadir's words did give me something to think about. I knew I should have taken great consideration into what he told me, to think over my being in the presence of a changeling. What would my aunt and uncle do if they knew I was taking lessons from such as person? I should have taken his word for it…

"I can't make myself care."

"Excuse me?" Nadir asked, looking confused.

I looked up at the Daroga's handsome face, staring directly into his dark eyes. "I don't care." I repeated, louder this time. "So what if Erik's a changeling? Will knowing that suddenly change who he is? It won't change him, and it doesn't change what I already know or think of him. I understand that he can be dangerous, and his temper is foul – I do not doubt your words there, monsieur Daroga – but it still doesn't change who he is, does it?"

Nadir continued to stare at me for a moment longer, then he laughed softly. "I can see now why he is fond of you, Miss Daaé. You are unlike any other young woman I had met before. Anyone else would go out of their way to avoid him at all costs now, knowing what you know. But, if what you say is true, and you plan on attending your lesson for this evening, he is not here. The moon is almost full, so he would be on the East Tower. You can wait for him here, or meet him there."

"Thank you, Monsieur Khan." I said politely, spreading my skirts in a small curtsy before making my way back down the hall, heading towards the East Tower. Before I got too far, however, I came to a quick stop, looking back over at the Daroga of Mazanderan, who had been watching me leave. "Monsieur!" I called back, getting his full attention. "Is that why he wears the mask?"

A dark cloud came over Nadir's eyes again. "No. That is not the reason. And for your own sake, miss, I would not ask about his mask, if you have not already. He is rather touchy on the subject."

"Yes, sir." I said obediently, then left once again.

It was not hard finding the East Tower, seeing as it was one of the most prominent features of the Mazanderan palace. The great edifice loomed before me, a great shadowed and ominous structure that seemed to touch the very heavens itself. The sun had nearly set now, a rosy, pinkish glow on the western horizon, but towards the east the sky was a deep, velvety blue, spangled with stars that hung in the air like diamonds.

There were very few people near the base of the great tower, and thankfully, only one was a guard, standing just before the one entrance of the tower that lead to the great winding stairway within. I passed him wordlessly, and he made no motion to stop me, either from assuming correctly that I could not speak a word of his language, or knowing that there was very little if no damage a European girl like me could do within it. That meant there was nothing in the tower worth protecting, leaving my journey unhindered. Once I was beyond the threshold, I took a deep breath, hitched up my skirts, and proceeded up the hundred upon hundreds of stairs that lay before me, spiraling forever upwards.

I would have been lying if I said it was an easy climb up to the tower's highest terrace. By the time I reached the landing, I was breathing more than a little hard, and my blood was pounding in my ears, my heart beating so hard in my chest I was sure it would break my ribs. I was sure I looked like a right mess from climbing all the stairs, but when I saw the figure standing on the balcony before me, I quickly forgot all about my appearance and discomfort.

Erik stood on the balcony, his back to me, facing out towards the now complete night sky. The light breeze that passed over his tugged at his long black robes, playing with tendrils of his long hair. For several moments, he did not move, but I could do nothing but watch him. Did he know I was even there? If he did, he made no sign of it…

Then I heard him sigh softly, that one quiet breath enough to send a shiver through me. He tilted his head back, turning the palms of his hands upwards…

And two great dark wings unfolded from under the folds on his cloak, stretching to their full majestic length.

A gasp tore through my throat, and I had to clamp a hand around my mouth to silence it. By then, of course, the damage had already been done.

Erik turned sharply around, his wings still unfurled, rage and horror in his golden eyes. I shrank away from that gaze, but could not make myself move from that spot. I had the horribly sinking notion that Erik was ready to strangle whoever it was that had seen him…and that person was me. "Who's there?" he demanded, his voice making me tremble. "Show yourself!"

I was essentially trapped, even if he did not know so. There was no sense in running, no use denying that I was there. Taking a deep breath and preparing myself for the worse, I stepped out from the shadows of the stairwell and into his line of view.

I had expected him to start yelling at me, cursing me for watching him, but the anger that had burned in his eyes suddenly dissolved into… Disappointment? Fear? Loss? I could not tell. All I knew was my own feelings of guilt and sympathy towards my maestro. This was one of his secrets that he did not want me to know, and I could almost read what he was thinking as my eyes remained glued to those great wings on his back. The look in his eyes was the same as any person when some great thing had at last come to a very bad end.

"Christine…" he began softly, and I felt a sudden thrill in the fact that this was the first time since our meeting that he called me by my first name. Whatever it was he was going to say was suddenly lost, and even though he would not take his eyes from me, the wings on his back folded down, as if he were trying to hide them from my sight.

"Wait…please." I said suddenly, taking a step towards him. He did not, to my relief, pull away. "Don't hide them. They're…they're beautiful."

Step by careful step, I made my way over to him, waiting for him to suddenly retreat away from me, waiting for the yelling to begin, for him to wrap those talon-like hands around me neck… But none of that came, until I was at last standing before him, staring up into his masked face. His eyes were now unreadable of any emotion, but they were tense, apprehensive, waiting…

I waited for him to speak, but after several moments of pregnant silence, it became clear to me that he was waiting for me to speak first. I swallowed thickly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "They…they really are beautiful." From here, I could see that the dark feathers of his wings were not black as I had thought they were, but were actually a deep reddish-brown in hue, like the color found on the changing leaves of trees in autumn. "May…may I touch them?"

I was not quite sure what inspired me to ask such a question, and Erik seemed equally surprised by my request. I was sure he would deny me, but instead, he only said softly, "Do as you like."

Heart pounding, I held me breath as I reached out with one trembling hand, extending it beyond his shoulder to touch the limb of one of his wings. The feathers were remarkably soft under my fingers, and the wing itself was warm, the muscles beneath tense and powerful. I could not help the small smile that came to me as my fingers traced upwards towards the first joint, the feathers deepening as I went along. Then it twitched away from my hand and I quickly stepped away.

"You seem to be quite calm, mademoiselle, for one in the presence of a changeling."

I felt slightly disappointed at the sudden switch back to formal speaking, so I stepped away from him, giving Erik the space I'm sure he wanted. He did not seem like the kind of man who was used to being in close contact with other people if he could not help it. "I've been around my share of changelings in my life, maestro. But I've never seen one with wings before. They make you look like an angel."

Erik snorted, turning away from me. He folded his wings down, and the disappeared once more into the deep folds on his cloak. "I am no angel, Mademoiselle Daaé."

"You shouldn't say such things about yourself." I said firmly.

Erik looked back at me over his shoulder, a cold gleam in his eyes. "And you should not speak of what you do not understand." Another long period of silence fell over us, and I waited tensely for Erik to dismiss me. "I suppose you've come for your lesson?"

His question surprised me, but I could not deny that I was pleased that he had asked it. "Well, you weren't in your room, and I ran into Nadir Khan…he told me you were up here. If you're too…uh, busy tonight, I can just leave."

"No, not busy at all. The nights are mine. We can even proceed up here, if you'd like, since we're already here. There are times when the room becomes too stuffy for my tastes. Let's start with the warm-ups, then, and try not to take too long on them…"

I had no complaints about continuing my lessons on the tower. A change of scenery was nice, and at least tonight I didn't have Ayesha's glare burning holes in the back of my head…

Although I did my best to concentrate on my warm-up scales, which by now should have been easy and flawless, the shock that I had received upon seeing Erik's wings still left me shaken on the inside, and I fumbled over the notes far worse than I even did on my first lesson. Erik's patience was blessedly long lived that night, and when he stopped me for the third of fourth time, he remained silent, looking me over carefully, studying me. I held my breath, wondering what in the world he could have been thinking.

"Your breathing is absolutely abhorred tonight. Your posture is no better. Have you forgotten everything I taught you?"

"N-no, it's just."

"I'll hear no excuses, mademoiselle. We just have to find a way to make you remember…" Erik's golden eyes narrowed in intense thought, then he cast a quick glance behind him. Before I knew it, Erik had climbed onto the banister of the balcony, his already tall form towering over my own, and he reached one hand down to me. "Come up here."

My stomach gave a dreaded sort of jolt; what did he mean "come up here"! We had to have been at least two hundred feet in the air! I wanted to protest, to demand what he was planning, but those intense eyes kept me silent. My heart pounded, I wanted to refuse, but my body seemed to move on its own accord as set down the book I had still been clutching and I took his hand and he lifted me onto the banister along side him as thought I weighed no more than a feather.

The banister was by far wide enough for at least two people to stand before one another without crowding each other, but that was no comfort seeing that we were so high up that I could not even see the ground below us. I let out a gasp of fear, backing away from the edge, bumping into Erik who gently grabbed me by the arms, holding me steady in his strong grasp. "Do not fear. I will not let you fall."

Without removing his arms from his grasp, Erik took a step forward, steering me towards to very edge of the balcony. I could have curled my toes around its rim. By now I was trembling, on the verge of begging him to let me down, but I trusted him, trusted him to not let me go…

"Close your eyes."

I did so without protest, squeezing them so tightly that they felt as if I could never open them again.

"Put your head back."

I did that as well, letting it fall back to where I could feel my hair brush against Erik's chest. His hands slid down from my upper arms down to my wrists, where he gently guided them upwards, away from my body.

"Now, open your eyes."

I did not want to. I did not want to see the fall below me, the pitch blackness that could threaten to swallow me alive… But I trusted my maestro. Slowly, I pried my eyes apart, and gasped at the sight before me.

The rest of the world had seemed to have disappeared. There was only me and the endless black sky, stretching on into eternity, and the stars were so close I could have reached out and plucked them from the sky.

"This…" Erik began softly, his breath warm against my ear. "This is how I want you to feel when you're singing. Like you're on the edge of the world, like you could fall at any moment, and the only thing keeping you on your feet is standing just like this."

Never before had I felt so moved by what I saw. The power, the beauty, the omnipresent abyss of the universe that was now so close to me was far too much for a mere mortal like myself to take in. "And what if I fall?" I asked, my voice no more than a whisper, as I was afraid that any louder sound would shatter the sky before me.

"Then I shall catch you. Sing for me, Christine."

"What should I sing?"

"Anything."

I closed my eyes, thinking, searching for my memory for a song that I knew well. One immediately sprang to mind; an old lullaby my father used to sing to me when I was a baby. I took a deep breath, tightened my diaphragm, and sung for him…

_We're walking in the air,_

_We're floating in the moonlit sky,_

_The people far below are sleeping as we fly…_

_We're holding very tight,_

_And riding in the midnight blue,_

_And finding I can fly so very high with you…_

_Suddenly, swooping low,_

_On an ocean deep,_

_Rising up, a mighty monster from its sleep…_

_We're walking in the air,_

_We're dancing in the midnight sky,_

_And everyone who sees us greets us as we fly…_

There was real magic in the world that night. It surrounded me, soothing me, taking me away from the real world and all its problems, and Erik was my guide. My dark, mysterious winged maestro, the masked man I knew virtually nothing about, and yet found myself being drawn closer and closer to him with each passing lesson…

You must understand the nature of magic. Magic has always been the greatest of God's gifts, wonderful, warm, serene, healing…like the lapping of the ocean waves, or the dancing flames of the fire that we could touch, feel, and experience as though all the greatest majesties of nature were part of our very souls and not just a presence that surrounded us in our every day lives. But, like nature, magic was to be respected, to be handled carefully… Because if you were not careful, it would trap you in its sweet spell, promising you all the greatest things of the world, and before you knew it, you were swept away beyond saving, or you could find yourself horribly, horribly burnt…

I knew this, from the words of my father, and from the teachings of the magicians of the carnivals, and yet it is easy for anyone to be swept up in the spell.

Perhaps that was why I did what I did that night…

The song came to an end, drifting off into silence, but I was left with the most incredible feeling in the world; a warm light that seemed to blossom within my heart, filling me with a sense of confidence and beauty that I had never known before.

Was it the night sky that made me feel like this?

Was it the magic of music that my father had passed down to me?

Or had it all come from the man who was standing not more than a hair's breadth behind me?

I was falling away…I was loosing touch with myself…

And yet I had never felt more alive.

Erik did not speak when my song ended, nor did he release his gentle hold on my wrists. I turned to look at him, meeting his eyes, and nearly wept from the unspoken emotion I saw in those golden depths, the magic within them penetrating further into my soul… And he was so close…

When the magic takes hold of you, you are no longer yourself.

Maybe that was why I kissed him.

It was not a true kiss, actually; just the barest brush of my lips against the corner of his mouth, but it was close enough for me to feel the warmth and softness of his own mouth, and the untapped power that hummed within him…

Then he pulled away, and the spell was broken. The magic was gone, the warmth gone from his eyes only to be replaced by a look of the utmost shock and horror and disbelief. I was hit then with the sudden terrible realization that I had done something very, very wrong.

Erik stepped down from the balcony, helping me down with him, but as soon as my feet were back on the ground he dropped my hand, pulling away from me as though my skin burned like acid. All of Erik's tightly kept composure had evaporated, leaving him stumbling over his words, his wild eyes staring at me as thought I had broken the greatest taboo known to man.

"Why…why did you…how could you have…"

"I…I'm sorry." I quickly stammered, determined to apologize for my own foolishness. Stupid, stupid girl! "I didn't know…I didn't know what I was thinking…"

Erik moaned, his usually beautiful voice horribly tortured and pained, his hands clutching at his face, around the mask. "Never again, Christine…never again…"

Then he was gone, disappeared down the stairwell without a backwards glance.

Once he was gone, I sank down my knees, tears coursing down my face. Never before had I felt so helpless, so horribly disgusted with myself. A kiss was supposed to have been a wonderful thing between two people…why did he act like it was God's greatest sin?

I stayed on the top balcony of the East Tower, trying to think of a way to mend the delicate relationship that I had shattered, but knowing the pieces were too small for me to put back together.

**Author's Note:** Huzzah to the long-awaited fluff, even if it wasn't really "hard core" so to say, lol. This might be a romance fic, but it's not going to be all fluff. Angst lovers, your turn is next. You didn't think I was going to make it so easy, did you?

The song that Christine sings in this chapter is based off the winter-time classic, "Walking in the Air", or "The Snowman". Originally, it had no lyrics until the release of the Celtic Woman CD/performing show. At least not that I know of. It's a truly gorgeous song, however. The scene with Erik and Christine on the balcony was the first thing that came to mind when I first heard it, and this was far before I ever started writing the story. That's how long I've been wanting to write that scene.

**YoukoElfMaiden****** Yes, unlike most Disney movies, Ayesha serves a purpose FAR more important than that of a plucky comic relief. Thank you for dubbing my fic squee-worthy!

**MouetteHeartsErik****** I hope you enjoyed the fluff of the chapter, however small it might have been.

**Lady Skywalker:** I hope this chapter was long enough for you, lol. I think you're the first reviewer I've had in a while to threaten bodily harm if I did anything wrong. Erik and Christine are definitely going to be having one of those pesky "one step forward, ten steps back", but I hope this ties them together a little more. The mask won't be coming off for a bit longer; I'm trying something different regarding it. I just hope I don't screw things up.

**Erisofchaos8:** Three updates in two weeks. That's pretty quick updating in my opinion, lol.

**Patiens-liberi****** I'm glad that you're liking Ayesha's character. I really didn't expect the reaction people got from her, but at least it hasn't been anything bad, yet. Thanks for the review!

**OritPetra****** Sometimes short and to the point is the best way to go about some situations. There is still much of Erik's past to come. Thanks for reviewing and for the beta, as always!

**Twinkle22:** Thank you for your kind words!

**GoldenLyre****** Hardcore EC-shippers unite! We need like rings or something. I feel much honored that you took the time to review my story! Much thanks!

**Lothiel****** I hope this fluff was to your liking.

**Gondolier:** To be perfectly honest, when I saw your penname pop up on the review alert e-mail, I promptly hyperventilated. I mean, holy crap, _the_ Gondolier reviewed my puny little fic? Seeing that you're one of the most respected and renowned authors on PFN, I was beyond flattered when I not only saw that you reviewed, but you gave me some of the best feedback thus far, and I am seriously not just saying that. Thank you a thousand times over for your supportive feedback and positive critiques. I hope I didn't disappoint with the fluff in this chapter. Now the angst can begin.

**And to all my reviewers**, a huge thank you than extends beyond words. You encouragement and feedback is not only inspiring me to push onwards, but it reflects on me as a writer, which is a profession I hope to get into someday. Knowing that you enjoy my writing means more to me than I could ever express. I love you all!


	7. Interlude Two: The Scorpion's Lair

**Author's Note:** Nothing much to say here, other than the traditions "I don't own anything" speech. This was one of those "oh-god-have-to-write-everything-in-one-go-or-I'll-forget-it-all" chapters, and you'll see why later.

I'm glad people had a positive reaction to Changeling!Erik. That was one of those gray areas, kind of like the talking Ayesha.

But c'mon, it's Erik with wings. What's not to love?

Once again, a million thanks and a box of cookies to my beta, OritPetra.

**Interlude Two**

**The Scorpion's Lair**

Ayesha made her way stealthily down the palace hallways, her keen cat's vision cutting through the darkness as though it had been daylight. No one passing her way paid even a second glance at the feline. There were more than enough cats around the palace, mostly belonging to the shah. Even the diamond collar around her slim throat – the very same one Erik had taken from another cat – did not earn a second glance.

Earlier that evening, Ayesha felt an uneasy prickle down her spine, making all the fine, creamy hairs long her back stand on end. Something was not right, and it involved Erik. Being able to sense her master's distress was a sixth sense of sorts that all cats possessed. Erik was upset about something…very upset, and confused…and Ayesha was determined to find out what it was.

Of course, her first intuition pointed straight to that _girl_.

Without waiting for Erik to return, Ayesha slipped from the chambers. Even with the doors shut and bolted, there was still more than one way to get out if needed. Erik had seen to that almost as soon as they arrived in the palace of Mazanderan, feeling strongly that there would be a time that they would need the escape. She was not prowling down the hallways, passing through pools of light from the torches burning on the wall, making her way towards the East Tower. The moon was nearly full, and she knew that exactly where Erik would be. Although she knew her master preferred the darkness, he had always been fond of the moonlight. Erik had a special talent for the night magic that most magicians would never dare to touch, and the nights of the nearly full moon were the best times to harness it.

There was usually the utmost aura of peace and serenity that surrounded Erik on nights like this. What could have possibly happened to upset him so much?

Movement down at the end of the hall caught Ayesha's attention. She crouched low to the ground, all her senses at full attention. Whoever it was certainly was not Erik, nor was it a complete stranger. No, this is someone who she met before…

The figure walking down the hall stepped into a patch of silvery moonlight that filtered from in between two pillars, and Ayesha saw with a note of agitation than it was none other than Erik's ward. The moonlight was clearly shimmering off the tracks of tears that marred her face. For the briefest moment, Ayesha felt a thrill of hope. Did she have a chance encounter with Erik, seeing that she did not arrive in their chambers that night, and it turned out badly? Had Erik dismissed her as his student? It was almost too much to ask…

Smirking to herself, Ayesha lifted herself back up and trotted to the closest moonbeam, making herself well seen to the girl's inferior vision. "Why the tears, girl?" Ayesha asked, making no attempt to mock compassion or concern.

Christine's head snapped up in surprise at the cat's voice, but as soon as her dark eyes fell on Ayesha, she scowled deeply, her sorrow instantly forgotten for the time being. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Where is Erik?" The cat demanded back, her tone as cold and unyielding as steel.

"How should I know? You're his nanny, you should be keeping better track of him."

The cat hissed. "Don't toy with me, stupid girl! I know you were with him, I can smell him on you. What have you done to him to make him so upset?"

Christine was taken slightly aback by Ayesha's question, but she feigned ignorance all the same. "That's none of your business."

Ayesha arched her back, her hackles on end. "Stupid, stubborn girl! I should tear your face to ribbons for lying to me! I know it was you that put him in a sour mood! I warned him to stay away from you, but you stupid girls are all the same! You care of nothing but yourselves!"

The girl proved to be faster than she looked. Before Ayesha had the chance to respond, even with reflexes as superior as her own, Christine had lunged forward and seized the cat by the scruff of her neck, lifting her clean off the ground so they were looking at each other eye-to-eye. "I should just toss you in a fountain, you horrid thing."

Ayesha's blue eyes widened in fury. "You wouldn't dare! Erik would expel you from his teachings if you did such a thing! He told you that himself!"

For a moment, it looked like Christine would carry out her threat anyway, but instead she sighed, and to Ayesha's silent relief, dropped the cat back to the ground. Ayesha quickly leapt back from the girl, and well out of arm's reach, careful not to let her guard down again. Christine was muttering to herself, speaking so softly that not even the cat could understand her.

"What did you say?"

"That's none of your business. I don't see why I should divulge with someone who eats bugs as a pastime."

Ayesha growled, but did not retort. Instead, she only pressed with her original question. "What did you do to Erik?"

"_I_ did nothing!" Christine snapped, clearly flustered. She drew a breath, calming herself. "I saw his wings tonight, are you happy? Nadir sent me up to the East Tower… I didn't mean to sneak up on him, nor did I think that he would be so upset by it. But he left…he left before I had a chance to tell him that I wasn't afraid of them…"

"The wings are mere child's play. The only reason why no one here knows he is a changeling is because of their inane superstitions. You would have been more of a fool than I would have expected if you feared something as insignificant as his wings." Ayesha flipped her tail, looking up at Christine with those steel-blue eyes. "Erik has been hurt, far too hurt in his past to allow himself to trust many people. Why he's putting so much false hope into you is beyond me. I told him – told him many times not to get involved with your scheming ways."

"How dare you! I would never scheme against him…"

"Young girls are all the same!" Ayesha snapped. "I've seen how you look at that mask during the lessons. How many times have you thought of removing it, girl? How often do you fantasize about what lies beneath it? I'll warn you now, your false pure intentions could never possibly prepare you for the truth, and not even Erik would trust _you_ so much to let you see beyond that mask."

Ayesha's words seemed to have struck a nerve, just as she was hoping. Christine's mouth moved a few times in silence before any words came out. "And…and what does it matter what he looks like underneath his mask? It doesn't change who he is…it won't change the fact that he's still Erik…"

"That's what Luciana said." Ayesha replied.

Before Christine had the chance to question Ayesha's remark, the cat flipped up her tail and disappeared into the darkness.

Of all the hundreds of rooms and chambers within the palace of Mazanderan, nor was as sinister or as forbidden as the personal chambers of the khanum herself. This was the place of the darkest conspiracies and the deadliest of schemes in all of Persia, yet very few were given the honor to see the chamber and its reinging monarch, the all-powerful mother of the shah. All throughout the kingdom the people spoke of her in no more than hushed whispers of the highest respect, and the stories of her great and terrible deeds were enough to frighten children and adults alike. If you were ever summoned to the khanum's presence, it was only for one of two reasons. It was of the greatest sign of honor, or it was to receive your own death.

Even now, Erik was not sure which option was waiting for him each time he was summoned to the woman's chambers.

The vast room was shrouded in a thick haze of incense smoke and long, gauzy curtains that gave it the very surreal, dream-like state that the khanum seemed to enjoy the most. Servants and harem girls moved about like ghosts, making naught a sound as to disturb the woman who was, at the time, lounging on her stomach on her nest of silk and satin pillows, trailing her fingers along the rim of a crystal goblet full of some deep red liquid. The khanum's beauty was unparalleled within her kingdom, her deep olive skin gleaming in the dim light of her chambers, her luxurious black hair falling down her back and arms like a silken cloak, her eyes as black as a moonless night. She was a majestic, strong woman, as beautiful as a swan, but as deadly as a cobra.

_A black widow,_ Erik thought to himself. _That's what she reminds me of. She would soon as kiss a man as she would kill him_.

Erik stood at rigid attention before the khanum's mountain of pillows, waiting for her to speak first, for her to tell him why she wanted to see him. He doubted that she had anything important to say. She was more than likely bored…again…and merely wanted to harass him for her own enjoyment. Had Erik been in the presence of anyone else, he would have never shown such respect. To him, titles of royalty and the oh-so-sacred blueblood lines meant nothing to him. Killing a king was no more difficult than killing a thug, but he could not risk to take that chance with the khanum. Not when so much was at stake…

"So, Erik…" The khanum purred, not so much as lifting her eyes at him as she spoke. Her voice was like honey and poison. "I understand that you have a made a new friend. One of the daughter's of my son's trade partner from your country. Is this true?"

Erik drew a silent breath, choosing his words carefully. This was exactly what he had been afraid would happen. It was more than likely that a member of the Mazanderan court saw Christine making her nightly journey to his chambers. He had, of course, dreaded the khanum discovering this, but at least he knew how to keep the woman sated, even in her foulest of moods. It was the Grand Vizier he had to worry about finding out…

"The word 'friend' is perhaps a bit generous." He said quietly, slowly, in Persian. "She is my student. I am merely giving her singing lessons in my spare time at night."

He sensed the danger a mere second before it was too late, and dodged slightly to the right as the khanum's crystal goblet hurtled past his head, missing his ear by a scant inch. The crystal shattered violently behind him, causing several harem girls in the vicinity to gasp in shock and hastily retreat to a safe distance before the khanum's temper could gain full force.

"How dare you!" The khanum hissed, like a cobra ready to strike. "How dare you find time to amuse yourself while I rot from boredom in this prison! You forget, _Erik_, you are here to serve me, and me alone!"

Erik made a shallow bow, his eyes downcast, making sure that he kept his own explosive temper in check. "I apologize, Madame. I meant no offense by it."

The khanum smirked, sitting back on the pillows again. "I'm sure you are." She said sarcastically. Erik well knew that tone in her voice, and his blood ran cold. "Tell me, Erik…is your ward pretty?"

Erik swallowed thickly, trying to figure out where the khanum might be going with this question so he could intercept the worse before she was given the opportunity to unleash her infamous cruelty upon him. He thought of Christine, just briefly, weighing out an answer. Though Erik had never been with a woman himself, he knew what European men sought after in women, whether they were looking for a wife, a mistress, or a whore; a lush, full-bodied figure emphasized by those ghastly corsets they wore, with porcelain-pale skin, full pouting lips, hair like Chinese silk, and the intelligence that could rival that of a cow. Christine unfortunately did not quite measure up to those standards. She was small in body stature and build, her figure painfully modest, her arms and wrists a tad too thin, and her long, curly hair had a bad habit of sticking up in places where it shouldn't have. Although she was still a trifle naïve and child-like in many respects, there was still a sharp edge about her wit and thinking that would have turned most men away after one conversation with her. He thought of her eyes, though, her smile, her voice, her spirit…

"Yes." He answered truthfully. "She's beautiful."

"Is she now?" the khanum mused. "You seem fond of her…I can hear it in your voice."

"Christine is my student. Nothing more, nothing less. I am only fond of her as any teacher would be of his pupil."

"Oh, don't be so modest, Erik. Tell me, how does Christine act around you? Does she shrink away from your touch? Does she stare at that ghastly mask on your head? Has she ever asked to see that horrid visage of your face?"

Erik narrowed his eyes, his blood beginning to run cold in his veins. He knew what question was coming before she ever said it. "Christine is not one of your meek little harem girls, Madame. She may look of the timid type, but she has a strong will and a good heart. If she does fear me…then she shows no trace of it."

A hard smirk played at the corners of the khanum's devil-red lips. "Is she your angel then, Erik? A woman who does is not repelled by your corpse-like fingers? She must be a miracle to you then, a true gift of Allah. I wonder, however, if she will still be such an angel after the mask comes off."

"That will never happen." Erik snapped shortly, his temper beginning to wane.

"You sound so sure of yourself. Accidents do happen, Erik. What will become of your student then? What proof do you have that she's so pure, so good that she'll accept that horror show you call your face and move on with life as though it had no relevance?"

A muscle twitched in Erik's jaw, and he had to avert his eyes to suppress the urge to strangle the woman. "Christine is different."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself more than me, my dear corpse. It sounds to me, Erik, like you might be falling in _love_ with this girl. Is that the case, Erik?"

Erik's already pale complexion turned a shocking shade of white at the khanum's words, and for the first time since his arrival in Persia, he was unable to mask his shock. The memories of the night before came rushing back to him in a jumbled blur…

_Christine seeing his wings on the terrace of East Tower…_

_Christine standing with him on the banister while she sang…_

_Christine looking at him with those star-bright eyes…_

_Christine kissing him…_

The dark-skinned woman's smirk grew larger. "So, it's true then…"

"Of course it isn't!" Erik could feel his grip on his composure slipping rapidly from his control. "As I said before, she is nothing more than my student! You can take that absurd notion of _love_ and feed it to the scorpions!"

The khanum gave a short, barking laugh. "Of course not! How stupid could I be? Of course she's only your student. You said it yourself. But I can't help but wonder…Erik…how much you're hoping this girl is as good and as noble as you say she is? How much you're wishing for her acceptance of your ugliness? Are you hoping, Erik, that this girl, this _Christine_ of yours, might end up loving you?"

Erik said nothing. The khanum laughed again. "Oh, this is too wonderful! You, of all people, hoping to be loved, and by an _angel_ of all things!" Her expression hardened as she stood from her pillows and cushions, a colossal shadowing presence that filled the entire chamber. Slowly, she parted the gauzy curtain that separated them, moving closer to Erik, who seemed to have been rooted to the spot. "What makes you think you have the right to fall in love, Erik? What makes you think that anyone could possibly love a living corpse? No woman would ever love you Erik, not even at the end of the world. You know this. Your hope is a dead man's hope. Besides, if she does, Allah forbid, even manage to find a spark of love for you in her virgin's heart? How will she react to your face then, Erik? I can tell you. The same way everyone else reacts. With fear, with loathing, with the most hell-raising disgust she'd ever know. And she would not be the one betraying you, Erik. _You'll_ be the one betraying her, for breaking that virgin's heart of hers. She would have wanted to love a man, but instead she'll find herself loving a corpse. Could you do that to her, Erik? Could you?"

"Stop it." Erik's voice was soft but as hard as stone. "You're speaking madness. I don't love her. I'll never love her, I'll never fall in love with anyone. And she'll never love me. I will never love anyone in my whole life!"

The khanum gave a satisfied smile, as though she had just heard exactly what she wanted Erik to say. "I can see I'm jumping to conclusions, then. Silly me…I should have known you don't love her. Besides, you would only end up hurting her in the end, anyway. Her poor little virgin's heart…" Slowly, the khanum reached up with one long-nailed hand and caressed Erik's masked cheek. "My poor, dear Angel of Doom…you know there's no hope for you, is there? You know you'll lead a lonely, loveless life, and you'll only have yourself to blame for it. For your whole life… But for now, you belong to me."

Erik said nothing. There was a deep, pained, cold emotion in his eyes, but he would not look at the woman before him.

The khanum pushed herself onto her toes, her lips just barely brushing Erik's ear. "But for now, I am bored, my Angel of Doom. I hope you'll do me proud."

**Author's Note:** Gaah, I've been reading far too much Fruits Basket lately.

I do enjoy writing the khanum. She's so delightfully evil; I just hope I didn't overkill her character. But, she is supposed to be cruel and taunt Erik for his ugliness, so she uses that to her full advantage. She really reminds me of Akito from Fruits Basket, so he helped fill in some of the blanks with her character. Poor, poor Erik. He's so confused.

The angst continues in chapter six.

**Titania**** of the Fate:** Thank you for your kind comments. I'm glad that you're enjoying the story thus far and Erik's pretty wings. "Walking in the Air" is such a pretty song, no?

**MouetteHeartsErik****** I'm glad you enjoyed the last chapter as much as I did writing it. Thank you for all your detailed reviews on the characters and elements of the story. Much love to you!

**GoldenLyre****** I created an addiction? Woohoo! No, wait, bad, that's bad, isn't it? Haha. The angst has at last arrived, but the fluff shall return!

**Erisofchaos8:** Nyess…this is in no means a fluffy fic. I mean, yeah, it's romantic, but I don't feel right writing Erik and Christine flinging themselves at each other. I mean, it works for some fics, but defiantly not for this one. I like fluff, but only in small doses. I'm more of an angst whore myself, lol.

**OritPetra****** Your comments are always important to me, no matter where they're written at. You're playing a bigger part in this than you give yourself credit for. I mean, you of all people should know how horrid my grammer is, lol. I am grateful to have you as my beta. Cheers, hon!

**Twinkle22:** I'm glad you like the idea of Erik as a changeling. Thank you for the review!

**Jinxed4Ever:** Wai, thank you for reviewing! It means a lot to me! PS: _Twisted Every Way_ is my newest stalking fic. We luvs it, precious, luvs it!

**Lady Skywalker:** So quick updating will save me from bodily harm? Sounds like a deal to me. Lol, just kidding. I'm glad you and others have taken such an interest in this fic. It's what keeps me going. Like I said before, a weak-willed Christine just wouldn't do in this story. That, and I tend to like female characters with a little more backbone, lol. Otherwise I think I would strangle her. They're no fun if they're pansies. And yes, Erik is being his typical, icy, manish self. But we all know Christine will snap him out of it…hopefully. It'll look pretty dim for a while.

**Miss Daae;** Yeay for EC goodness!

**Little Lemon:** Thank you for your comments on Christine and Erik. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter Six: The Torture Chamber

**Author's Note:** Another one-day chapter, which actually wasn't started until about ten o'clock at night and finished at three that morning. I certainly gave my beta a workout with this one. A round of applause for OritPetra, she needs it after what I put her through with this chapter. I won't do it again hon… Or, if I do, I'll remember to proof-read it myself before sending it off your way, lol.

The unmasking scene is upon us…or, at least, the first half of it, but unlike anything you've read before. I think.

For you dark, morbid, and angsty!Erik fans, I dedicate this chapter to you.

Onwards!

**Chapter Six**

**The Torture Chamber**

I had not seen Erik in three days.

I avoided him all together the first night after the disastrous events on the East Tower, ashamed of my own terrible blunder – the guilt burning deep inside me like a deadly acid.

What had I been thinking when I kissed him? Was I even thinking at all? No, of course I wasn't. The magic of that night had caught me in its snare of seduction, driving my actions to be anything but my own. By kissing him the night before, I had broken the most forbidden of teacher and student borders; the relationships between maestro and pupil are strictly professional, and are never anything more. Had that only been the case, I'm sure I would have received and earful for committing such a crime. But, somehow, I had a strong feeling it was more to Erik than just that. The way he recoiled away from me…the look of absolute hopelessness and fear in those eyes of his suggested that I had found an old scar on his heart and had torn it wide open, leaving him with bleeding and injured emotions linked to a long-ago memory that he had been trying to forget. All of that, over the tiniest of kisses…

My maestro was a dark, cold, and extremely temperamental man that should be treated with the same wary respect and fear as one would treat a hungry wolf. However, the events from that fateful night told me there was a whole other side of Erik I had yet to see, something he kept hidden from the world, painful memories of the past that he could trust no one with…

I knew then that the real mask he wore was not the one on his face, but rather the one he wore over his heart.

I would not have been surprised in the least if Erik had cut off my lessons after my appalling actions. It did not seem like much, but it was the only thing I could do to redeem myself – to make the barest of amends before our inevitable return to Paris.

Paris…

No, I did not want to think about Paris right now.

Returning to Paris meant leaving Erik, and I was not ready to say goodbye yet.

I attempted to return to his chambers for the next two nights, to offer up whatever apology he would listen to before I was turned away again. Each time I tried to enter his rooms, the doors were locked tightly shut, allowing admittance to no one, especially not to me. The doors had never been locked to me before. Each night I waited before them, testing them periodically to see if they would eventually give, but I never had such luck.

Eventually I would turn away and retreat to my own chambers, allowing the tears to flow in the quiet privacy I still had away from my family.

It had never occurred to me before that night that I had been attached to Erik in any way. There were even times on a few difficult nights when I was completely certain I was even fond of him at all because of his harsh words and growing temper. I knew now, though, that if I returned to Paris without seeing him at least one more time, my heart would surely break.

And yet, there was something else that accompanied my plague of guilt – a morbid curiosity that haunted me when I was not lamenting over my ill actions with Erik.

Who was this "Luciana" that Ayesha had spoken of?

Of course, Ayesha had left me no clues to the mysterious woman she had alluded to, and I had not seen her since our last encounter in the hallway. I was only able to piece together as much as what Ayesha had told me; from what I could gather, Luciana was someone from Erik's already shadowy past, and something had happened between them when she saw his face underneath the mask.

But what could have happened that was so awful, though? Why would someone's opinion of a person change so dramatically when she saw his true face?

_He had to wear the mask for a reason… That's something not even that cat would bluff about. How horrible could someone look that it forced them to wear a mask to conceal the truth?_

Despite what Ayesha had accused me of, I scantly gave a second thought to Erik's mask. Our lessons were so focused on the correction of my continuous mistakes and concentration to please my maestro that I hardly had the time to give the mask a passing glance.

Two weeks after the lessons began, I merely accepted the mask as a part of him, and in my mind's eye, it may as well had been his real face, regardless of the flawless white surface and how it gleamed when the candlelight reflected off it. I had forgotten from time to time that it was a mask at all, and that there was an actual human face beneath it.

At least, I hoped that was the case.

Given my past actions not more than three days ago, I had a very strong feeling I was not going to discover what the truth behind Erik's mask was for quite some time. I knew that should have been the end of the story, but that damn cat's words stuck in my head, and the demons of curiosity now hungered for an answer.

Come five o'clock on the fourth night after the kiss on the East Tower, I found myself, once again, on the long trek to Erik's chambers, dragging my feet as I walked, my head bowed low. I was torn between two indecisive forces: the overpowering urge to attempt to find Erik and apologize before it was too late, or to simply give up, assuming that the doors were once again locked, and head back to my own rooms to save myself the disappointment. I had never been an exceedingly negative person by nature – my father always taught me to look on the bright side of things, no matter how bleak the situation might have been – so it was that one shred of fragile hope that pushed me onwards.

Fate; however, seemed to have a different plan in store for me that night. For the first time since the encounter in the tiger's cage, it was Erik who found me.

The palace appeared to be unnaturally dark that night. A thin layer of clouds had rolled across the land from the sea, blocking out the moon and stars and blanketing Mazanderan in shadow. A chilling wind, uncommon to this kingdom that resided under the searing desert sun, gusted through the empty foyers, giving the palace an uneasy feel to it, as no one had lived there in years.

The rapidly cooling night air had forced me to take a shawl with me, and now I clutched it tightly across my shoulders as I made my way to Erik's room. The silence pressed down heavily around me, and the haunting call of some unnamed bird sent a chill down my spine. I had half a mind to turn back, to find Erik later – waiting one more night did not seem like such a bad idea – but before I had the chance to make up my mind, a voice not of this world called me from the darkness.

"Christine…"

I could not help the small shriek that escaped my mouth, the scream echoing down the hallways before being swallowed by the darkness. My heart hammered behind my ribcage like a trapped bird as I whirled around on my heel, wondering for all the world why I just did not flee, but then saw there was no reason to. Erik stood behind me, wearing the night shadows like a cloak, his mask an eerie luminous white in the darkness. Four days ago, I would have welcomed his presence at a time like this, but tonight…

His eyes.

Oh God, his eyes…

Those golden orbs I had once been so attracted to were suddenly so cold, so different than what I had once known…

It was as if Erik had built a wall of ice around his heart, hiding all emotion from the world and leaving nothing but the ghost of the man who I had hoped to one day understand. Was it all because…of what I had done? Because of that kiss?

"E-Erik…" I stammered, cursing myself for showing my nervousness in front of him. "What…what are you…"

"Come with me."

He said nothing more, he only turned his back on me and began to walk away. My mind screamed at me not to follow, to simply run the other way and not look back, but I found myself following him without thinking, as if being led on an invisible string.

I followed Erik down an unending maze of corridors and secret passage ways that I had not known to exist, neither of us saying a thing during the journey.

A cold knot of dread was twisting in my stomach, growing in size with my every step until I thought I would be unable to move. The detached, heavy aura that surrounded Erik's being was paralyzing and overbearing. There was something else, too, something else just beyond that wall around his heart that I could almost see, but was just out of reach. The unseen entity that Erik kept hidden from my view was so overpowering that it made me want to weep uncontrollably…tears even prickled at the backs of my eyes, but I fought to hold them back. Heaven knew that if I cried now, whatever was to happen to night would turn out to be so much worse…

Erik led me up a flight of stairs in a narrow stairwell, up to a small, shallow balcony that overlooked some sort of courtyard fifty feet below us. Erik stepped to the side, looking at me for the first time since he had ordered me to follow him, beckoning me come forward.

"Look down there." He said, not a trace of emotion in his voice.

I swallowed heavily, my whole body trembling, but I obeyed without question. He did not say a word as I approached the thin balcony railing of the balcony, looking down into a pitch-black courtyard far below my feet.

The courtyard was empty of people, but I could see some sort of half-completed contraption sitting in the darkness, surrounded by an assortment of construction tools left abandoned for the night. The whole scene had a very ominous look about it.

It was difficult to see all the details of the contraption below, but I could tell it was easily the size of a small closet with eight tall, narrow walls, just large enough for perhaps three or four large men to fit in. Most of the walls now were only frames, but I could see that a few of them had been fitted with some paneling, but they were not made of wood, or stone. The surfaces were impossibly smooth and shiny, and seemed to be reflecting the thin light… They looked almost…like…

"Mirrors?" I said softly. I looked at Erik; his expression was still unchanged. "Are those mirrors? Erik, what is it? Please, tell me."

"It is the khanum's latest project for me. It is a torture chamber."

The words were like a bell tolling in my head, a dirge that signaled the end of all that I thought I knew about my maestro. This was not the Erik that I had known from my lessons, the Erik with the angelic voice and magical soul that I found myself drawn to. Standing before me now was one of the dark magicians that my father had always warned me about, a stranger of the night whose ominous presence filled me with a sense of dread.

"A…a torture chamber?"

"Yes. By the khanum's request. She enjoys new and ingenious ways of killing people. It's one of her favorite pastimes. You see, Christine, it was not the shah who wanted me to come to Persia solely for his courts. Oh no, Christine. The khanum had been searching for new means of entertainment, and I became her newest toy.

"The slaughtering of convicts by my hand only kept her amused for so long. She requested of me, last night, for a new way to bring gruesome and entertaining means of death to a human being. The torture chamber seemed to hold her interest.

"It's not complete yet, of course, but when it is, the chamber will be completely lined with mirrors, and sitting in the center will be an iron tree. When light is shone into the chamber, the tree is reflected off the mirrors, and gives quite a convincing image of a parched African grassland. I have never been there myself, but I can imagine the illusion is rather real. Not only that, but the heat that the light creates is enough to drive a person mad within a few short hours. The combination of the heat and the illusion is more than enough to drive a person to suicide."

Erik laughed dryly, a sound similar to dead leaves brushing together; it sounded nothing like his usual heavenly voice. "I impress myself, sometimes. The khanum doesn't call me her 'Angel of Doom' for nothing, you know."

I felt cold all over, like the icy hand of death had reached up from the underworld and taken hold of my heart, refusing to let it go. What I was feeling was beyond fear, beyond any emotion of dread that I had never felt before. I wanted nothing more than to run; for the first time I met Erik I wanted to flee from him and not look back, but his eyes rooted me to the spot. Erik had something to say to me, something he wanted me to know, no matter how horrible it was, and he was going to make sure that I heard every word.

"Why?" I found myself asking, dully, weakly. I did not know if I could merely not believe what Erik had just told me, or if I simply refused to believe him. "Why would you do such a thing, Erik?"

"I am an artist, Christine." Erik's voice was suddenly louder than it had been all night, echoing uncomfortably off the walls of the hollow courtyard. I flinched despite myself, fighting the urge to clap my hands over my ears. "I have made it my life to master the finer crafts of mankind. Music and composition are just the beginning. There are so many other trades out in the world, begging for my hand to grace them. Death is just another art."

My heart lurched, and the balcony seemed to writhe under my feet. "You can't be serious."

Erik laughed again, only this time, there was a mad edge to it that made me want to scream. "My poor, naïve little student. You think you know so much of the world from living on the road when in fact you know so little. You have not seen as much as a fraction of the world's cruelty, of the world's evils. You cannot even begin to understand the darkness of men, or what lengths they will go to get what they desire, or to defend what they already have. If you could only see the blood that covers my hands, Christine… It would taint your innocence long before a man ever had the chance to touch you."

Words failed me, and I had to look away to hide the tears that sprung into my eyes before I had the chance to stop them. I refused to believe his words, but I knew Erik was exactly the type to gloat about such achievements, regardless of how morbid they might have been. The Erik I had known was gone, and all that was left was this cruel stranger that I had no desire to be around.

"What's the matter, Christine?" Erik's voice purred before me. "And here I had thought you wanted to know more about me. Well, here I am Christine. You now know of my love of art in all its forms, whether it be in music or blood. Is there anything else you care to know?"

I knew I should not have asked the question – oh it was stupid of me, so incredibly stupid. I was no longer playing with fire; now I was standing at the threshold of hell. I could feel the flames licking my soul, tempting the words out of me…

"Erik…who's Luciana?"

The guttural roar that was torn from Erik's throat was beyond terrifying, a scream from some other world, but I barely had time to emit even a gasp of horror when he grabbed my shoulders with those sharp, talon-like hands, spinning me around to face him. His golden eyes were filled with hellfire behind his mask, his lips pulled back into a furious snarl.

"And what of her!" Erik growled. "What good do you think knowing will do you, Christine? Do you think such knowledge would empower you? That it'll tell you all my secrets, so that you can understand me as a person?"

"No…no…" Tears flowed unheeded down my cheeks, tears that were not caused from the pain of his sharp nails digging into my skin under my dress. "I didn't mean…I just…"

"Just _what_, Christine? What was it that you _just_ wanted? Go on… All you have to do is ask. Is it about my mask, Christine? Is knowing that I'm cursed as a _changeling_ not enough for you? Do you really want to see what's behind my mask that badly?"

"No!" I cried piteously, shaking my head before letting my chin drop to my chest. "No…I could never ask that of you…"

"Don't play innocent with me." Erik hissed. "I don't _need_ words to know what it is your truly want. Do you think you can handle the truth, Christine? How can you be so positive that you can so willingly accept the _monster_ that I truly am? Luciana thought so too. She thought that seeing my true face wouldn't change anything either… She thought that she could save me, too. She demanded that I take my mask off; she was quite persistent, and I actually believed for one moment that I could trust her not to run away, to not be repulsed by what she saw. She thought that she would still love me after seeing my face…but that was all before she fell to her death as soon as the mask was off."

My breath seized in my throat, and my heart ceased the beat in my chest. Erik's face had frightened a girl so much that she had _died_ over it? No, no, no, I wouldn't believe it! I couldn't… It wasn't possible for someone to look so horrible! It just couldn't be!

"Do you still want to see me that badly, Christine? Do you? Look, then! Look upon the thing of nightmares, a work of art that would do the devil himself proud! Look, so your wretched curiosity might as well be sated!"

Something clattered to the ground at my feet, the sudden, empty noise causing my eyes to snap open.

Erik's mask lay on the stone floor of the balcony, staring mockingly up at me through the empty holes of its eyes.

"Look at me, Christine."

My eyes snapped shut once more, just before Erik took hold of my chin in his talons, forcing my head up.

"Look at me, Christine." He repeated, his voice shaking in rage.

I could not open my eyes… God help me, I could not make myself open them!

"Look at me, Christine!"

I could not open them. They remained locked as tightly as a cursed tomb, and yet somehow the tears still managed to slip from beneath my sealed eyelids…

"Look at me!"

Oh God forgive me… Erik's nails dug so deeply into my skin I would not have been surprised if I were bleeding…

_Erik…I'm so sorry…_

Silence hung thick in the air, and after what seemed like an eternity in which my eyes still would not open, Erik's hold on my face eventually slackened, and I felt him step away. I could feel his eyes upon me, and I could almost see within them the crushing grief and betrayal held in those golden depths; the last of Erik's hopes snuffed out within him. In the back of my mind, I thought I heard the whisper of some sound, something that shook me to the core despite its softness, and yet I could not place what it was…

Erik did not speak. He barely made a sound at all when he turned away and left me alone on the balcony above the torture chamber.

It was only after he was gone that I could open my eyes.

The horrid sobs that erupted from my throat followed not long after.

_Erik holds more secrets than the entire Mazanderan court put together, secrets that have shunned him from human emotion and compassion. I greatly fear what will happen, if he happened to become even more attached to you, and you as well reject him as so many others have._

It was only when I recalled Nadir Khan's words that I understood what the ghostly sound I heard was before Erik had left. It might have been small, and insignificant, but it had been the unmistakable sound of a heart breaking.

I don't know how long I stayed on that balcony that night. All I knew was that I had cried the entire time, even after my tears had run dry. I cried for my stupidity, I cried for Erik, but most of all, I cried for that poor heart who's last hope of human compassion was so mercilessly crushed by my accursed ignorance.

It was on the balcony that night that I finally knew my feelings for Erik extended far beyond that of a student and her teacher.

It was also then I knew that I was the Eve of his heart, and his Eden was now lost to him forever.

**Author's End Note:** So, the mask has come off. But seeing the mask off and seeing the face underneath has proven to be two different things. Don't hate Christine, though. She hasn't run away screaming…yet.

Chapters might be delayed for the next few weeks…that is, I won't be able to update every week like I have been. Halloween is just around the corner, and I have a hefty list of artworks that need to be completed before the end of October. Also, Orit's back in school, and so real life has to come first, so she won't be able to get the chapters back on a same-day or day-after basis. But hey, eight chapters and still going strong. That's a pretty good sign, to me.

**Twinkle22:** Yes, she is quite mean…but she's sure fun to write, lol. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint.

**GoldenLyre****** The fluff shall return, after they get through the miles of angst they've built around themselves. Never fret! Fluff you want, and fluff you shall have (in accordance to the story, of course).

**Mominator**** Erickson:** I'm glad you like the fantasy-ness of the story! Every now and then, a fandom has to be shaken up with a little faery-tale twist. As for Raoul…hmm…in all honesty, I haven't decided yet. Only time shall tell.

**OritPetra****** I didn't read Leroux until after I saw the ALW musical and read Susan Kay…but yeah, I was surprised at how much more stubborn and almost cruel Christine was to Raoul as compared to the other versions. I truly don't think she's given enough credit. Heaven knows that if I were caught in her situation, I probably would have been just as confused and frightened as well.

**ErisofChaos8:** Well…she didn't spaz, lol. But, seeing that she has yet to actually see Erik's face, that might change yet. Or not. Hmm….

**Lady Skywalker:** Nope, no confusion, you're still my only reviewer that'll cut off my limbs if I disappoint you. I hope this chapter didn't do that, heheh.

**Whobajube****** Aww, Orit was so happy with your comment. Yes, she does do a great job, especially after a monstrosity like this chapter. So glad you're enjoying the story!

**Thornwitch****** Actually, I have been reading _Howl's Moving Castle_, but it's sadly been having a difficult time really holding my attention. It just feels like there's nothing getting accomplished, and pacing is rather sluggish. Still a good book, though, and I intend to finish it. Thanks for calling the flaw in Christine's attitude to my attention. I'll make sure to work with that later.

**Erik'sLittleLotte****** Thank you for your enthusiasm!


	9. Interlude Three: The Nightingale's Tears

**Author's Note:** Welp, I finally broke the once-a-week update streak I had going. Poo. Oh well, at least you're not waiting months in between chapters like most of my other fanfiction. Like I said before, updates will be staggered, between me working on other projects and my beta being loaded down with real-life stuff. It happens, unfortunately.

Million and one thanks to my beta, OritPetra.

****

**Interlude Three**

**The Nightingale's Tears**

****

Ayesha had never dreaded Erik's return as much as that one fated night. Never before had her master's mood been so black, so utterly ominous and foreboding… It was though the devil himself was stalking about Mazanderan on that unnaturally cold, dark night.

As the shadow of Erik's ever darkening presence grew closer to their chambers, Ayesha grew more and more afraid, hiding herself within the blackest of recesses of his rooms. Slinking under a chair, she cowered in the shadows, her whole being trembling as the night pulsed with a black aura, growing closer, heavier, crushing the very air from Ayesha's small lungs…

The huge double doors of the chamber flew open with a deafening bang and Erik swept in like a ghost out of hell, staggering in with jerking, halting steps, clutching his head in both of his talon-like hands. The aura surrounding him was one of such sorrow, such crushing agony that Ayesha mewled piteously from her hiding spot.

With a gesture of his hand, the doors closed with another thunderous crash and Erik stumbled further into the room, only making it another few steps before he collapsed to the floor with a loud moan. His normally angelic voice tolled like a funeral's requiem, breaking the heart of anyone who might have heard it. If Ayesha could cry, tears would have been pouring from her luminous blue eyes.

"Ayesha…"

From under the chair, Ayesha's trembling immediately ceased at her master's voice, her blood running cold. Though there was an urgent plea in his voice, it still contained a commanding strength that ordered her audience. The cat cowered further back under the chair, wishing for nothing more than to disappear…

"Ayesha!"

Erik's voice was harder this time, far more demanding. Ayesha whimpered, but had no choice but to obey her master's call. Slowly, she slipped out from under the chair, dragging her paws as she crossed the room to her master's side, her tail tucked deeply in between her legs.

Erik was trembling, still holding his face between his hands, and even in the darkness of the chambers, she could see the lack of the mask that usually covered his face, and she immediately feared the worst.

So it was that girl's fault, just as she knew it would be! Somehow, the little wretch had managed to get the mask off… That was the only explanation to why Erik was not wearing his mask. Ayesha felt a wave of anger surge through her…

"How did she know about Luciana, Ayesha?"

The anger immediately evaporated, cold dread rushing in to replace it.

"I…I have no idea what you're talking…"

"Answer me, Ayesha!" Erik's voice thundered. "How did Christine know about Luciana!"

Ayesha shrank back, wanting nothing more than to run away from her master's impending wrath, only to find that her paws were rooted to the spot. Every hair on her body was shaking as her entire being trembled from fear and guilt.

"_Answer me!"_

The cat recoiled away from him, curling further into herself as though it would help make her disappear. Weakly, Ayesha muttered her confession, a sound no stronger than the mewling of a newborn kitten. Snarling, Erik seized her by the scruff of her neck and pulled her clean off her feet, her pale, pointed muzzle a scant inch away from his unmasked face.

"_Do not mock me, Ayesha! Speak clearly!"_

Ayesha winced away from her master's fury – his burning eyes, his face contorted even further by the animalistic sneer on his thin lips – but she could not run, nor could she escape. All she could do was squeeze her eyes shut and suffer the consequences of her actions.

"I told her."

"_Why?_" Erik's voice cracked, and raw emotion began seeping into his words. "Why would you do something like that? Why would you go to such lengths to sabotage what I had with her? Why would you want to purposely drive her away from me?"

Ayesha whimpered, and when she answered, her voice was soft, weepy, as her little cat's heart ached with unspoken feelings for her master. "Because…because I didn't want to see you get hurt again, Erik… After Luciana died, you were so depressed -- so heartbroken. If I could have cried for you, my tears would have filled an ocean. And then when the girl came here… I could see it, Erik, I could see it in your eyes! The way you look at her, the way you watch her when she doesn't think you're looking… You smile at her! How long has it been since you smiled for anyone? For another girl? Not even Luciana was worthy enough for it! You're falling in love with her!"

"_I would never do such a thing!"_ Erik roared.

"But you are! You _have, _even if you don't know it yet! Deny it all you want, I can see it in your eyes! I can see how your soul glows when she comes for the lessons! It was never like that before, not even with Luciana! How could you trust Christine to not react the same way Luciana did when she saw you without the mask? How could you live with yourself if you had Christine's blood on your hands along with Luciana? It would destroy you, Erik, I know it would! You know what your face does to people when they see it! How can you believe that Christine's any different!"

Silence engulfed the pair as Erik continued to glare blood and daggers at the cat, and for the briefest moment, Ayesha feared that he would snap her neck cleanly in half. Then, to her simultaneous surprise and relief, Erik dropped her with a low growl, letting her land hard on her feet before turning away from her, still crouched to the ground. He had given her to opportunity to flee from him, before his temper flared once more, but the cat stood her ground. Somewhere within her speech, she had managed to hit a nerve within him, something that made him stop and listen.

She could feel her master's grief and sorrow surrounding him, holding him in an unbreakable cage that he could never hope to escape…

There was so much more that had happened this night than she had originally thought…

"What did you tell her?" Ayesha asked, carefully, slowly.

Due to his prolonged silence after the question, Ayesha assumed that Erik would not tell her… It was as much as she deserved -- she had already interfered enough already…

"I told her only what she needed to know."

A pit of dread hollowed out in Ayesha's belly. "Erik…"

"Then I took off my mask."

The cat closed her eyes, fearing the worse.

"But she wouldn't look." Erik's voice trembled with emotion as it finally slipped away from his ever-tight control, tears slipping out from under his eyes and in between his fingers before he could stop them. For all the strength he possessed, for all the magic that ran through his blood, he did not have the power to stop those traitorous tears, to force them back into his body and lock them away in his blackened, dead heart. "She didn't look… She didn't have to look to be afraid, or repulsed. She was too afraid already, and she didn't even have to look…"

Slumping to the floor completely, Erik released the magical hold of his wings, letting them unfurl around him, the deep red feathers falling across the rich, cold floors like so many tears.

"I had hoped…"

Ayesha's heart wept as she watched him. Slowly, she approached him, and curled her sleek body under the crook of one arm, keeping close to his cold, shivering body without him so much as acknowledging her presence.

"Dared to hope…"

Ayesha whimpered and curled closer to her master, her small heart bleeding with words unspoken words that could never be spoken between cat and master…

"Was it so wrong to hope…that, maybe, she would be different?"

Unwrapping one arm from around himself, Erik raked a skeletal hand down his face, feeling the pulse of the exposed veins, the crude curve of bone, the taut, chalky skin…

"It's too much to hope for…"

"Erik…I only wanted to protect you…" Ayesha began softly, but it was no use.

By then, Erik's words had dissolved into quiet, yet soul-crushing sobs.

He stayed like that for a very, very long time.

**Author's Note:** Is the angst good enough for you here? Sorry fluff lovers, it'll be another few chapters before you can start "aww-ing" again. But, if there was no angst, this would be a pretty boring story, wouldn't you say?

**Jinxed4Ever:** Nyess, we all love the angst. It makes the world go 'round. Or something like that.

**Twinkle22:** I'm glad you like my version of the unmasking. Being unconventional can be a good thing every now and then.

**Mlle. Skywalker:** -_hides to avoid being mauled for simultaneously updating late and for posting a short chapter_- Looks like I'm going to loose my ankles next. Just make sure enough of me stays around long enough to finish this fic, mmkay? Or all my other reviewers will be coming after you.

**GoldenLyre:** Yes, but dark, scary, pushy Erik is just so much fun to write!

**Little Lemon**: Hey, I like that idea. We should start a petition together to make it work.

**WildPixieChild:** Sorry for the lack of fluffiness in this chapter. It will return…eventually.

**PhantomGirl1490:** Thanks for your compliments!

**Sporkish Fiend:** Aack, another threat of bodily harm? Yikes, writing this story's gonna kill me if I'm not careful.

**OritPetra:** I'm glad to see that you think Erik's coming along so well. He's not an easy character to write. Stories that don't give Christine a slight margin of fear are unrealistic, in my opinion. If I were in her place, I don't think I would have been doing much better.

**Miss Daae:** Hmm, we'll just have to wait and see. Thanks for the review!

**Mominator:** While most people might not see it as a betrayal, I think Erik's just anal like that. Thanks for reviewing!


	10. Chapter Seven: The Rose's Confession

**Author's Note:** Yes, another long pause between updates, but this time I have a valid excuse. I apologize for this, but I'm not sorry for it. You see, October 3 was mine and my boyfriend's two-year anniversary, in which we spent a week in Disneyland. He told me I could bring my laptop and work on the story there, but I said no, that it was strictly "our time". There are some things in life that just have more priority. Also, understand that my beta is now back in school, so she can only do her beta-ing when school work and real life aren't put first. On top of all that, I finally got a break in the block for my original novel, so I try to work on that when it's needed. But, this fic is far from being abandoned, so don't give up on my now. I will see this fic through until the end.

****

**Chapter Seven**

**The Rose's Confession**

"Christine, please! You've been like this for days! You're really beginning to scare me!"

Francine's words only sounded like a distant mutter to me, as though it were coming to my ears through a thick fog. I knew that she was worried about me, probably to the point of making herself sick over my sake, and yet I could not find enough heart to care. Not since the last night I had seen Erik…

When I finally found the strength to leave the terrace above the torture chamber and had somehow, miraculously, stumbled my way back to my own guest chamber, I had collapsed onto my bed as a fresh torrent of sobs overtook me, leaving me in a weepy, red-faced mess ever since. Time no longer had any meaning, and I did not so much as even feel the hunger that gnawed away at my stomach after going days without eating.

It seemed as if the whole of the world had abandoned me, as it rightfully should have. I was all alone in the crushing, black abyss of my guilt -- that guilt that continued to consume my soul, little by little with each passing moment of the day, leaving nothing more than an empty shell littered with the remains of my broken heart.

I was disgusted with myself as I never had been before. I loathed myself with every fibre of my living being. How could I have been so heartless, such an utter, pathetic, and weak coward? How could I have ever been so cruel to him, to not look into his unmasked face, to break Erik's heart after all he'd done for me?

But I already knew the answer.

_Because you were afraid…_

_No!_ No, I was not afraid of Erik! I trusted him – I had trusted him with my life! The night on the balcony had proven that much!

And yet… I could not deny that I had felt some fear of him that night. First it had been due to his uncharacteristic cold manner when he had first found me, then it had been the insane edge to his voice when he had talked about death as an art form, as casually as one talking of the weather!

But his anger…

Oh God, never before had I seen such unbridled fury in a person. The memory of the hellfire that had raged behind his eyes was burned into my mind, his angelic voice twisted into a demon's crow as he demanded that I look at his unmasked face. The Erik that I had known was gone, replaced by a winged devil that frightened me far more than his face was ever capable of, regardless if it was horrific enough to cause a woman's death sometime in Erik's dark and shrouded past.

I had, that night, been afraid for my life, even if it was only for a scant second…

Then that horrible fury was gone, leaving such sorrow, such hurt in its wake that I could swear that I had actually heard the sound of Erik's heart breaking before he left me alone with my own grief.

How many days ago had that been? I no longer cared; I no longer cared about anything other than that poor heart I had broken with my own selfish fears. All it seemed I could do was remained curled up on my bed, falling in and out of my pitiful weeping spells, mourning the relationship that Erik and I once had which was now undoubtedly lost to us forever.

"Christine! Answer me, please!"

"Oh, leave her alone, Francine." I barely heard Gisele chide somewhere on the other side of our rooms. "If she wanted to talk to you, I would assume she would have done it by now. Besides, I'm sure it's nothing to fret over. The little urchin probably just found a dead cat in the road or something."

"Stop it, Gisele!" Francine snapped, talking in an offensive tone to her sister like I had never heard before. Had I not been such a mess myself, I probably would have applauded my younger cousin's newfound audacity. "How can you be so heartless? Can't you see Christine's really upset about something?"

"Of course I can see that she's upset. Whether I care about it is another story. Now stop wasting time. We were supposed to be at dinner five minutes ago."

Francine glowered at her sister's back, but the sudden sass she had acquired had seemed to have run its course. Instead of retaliating – not that I had expected her to – my second-oldest cousin turned back to me, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Christine, won't you at least come to dinner? It's been days since you've last eaten…"

A quick shake of my head, still buried in my tear-soaked pillows, was the only pitiful answer I was able to give. I heard Francine sigh in resignation, and felt the soft mattress under me shift as she stood up. "All right then… Can I at least bring you something? In case you're hungry later?"

I barely had the willpower to nod my head once, weakly, just to give her some satisfaction, which would hopefully get her to leave. All I wanted was to be left alone with my misery.

When I heard the massive doors of our chambers bang shut, I finally gathered enough strength to roll over, curling my knees up to my chest as I stared blankly at the wide windows, the skies beyond stained the gentle, rosy pink of a typical Persian sunset. They were the same windows I had been sitting at when I saw Erik for the first time…

Sniffing back a fresh wave of tears, I rolled over, facing the wall again. It seemed that anything I looked at reminded me of the masked man whose trust I had so cruelly betrayed. I could have only imagined the ghastly sight I made, laying like a sick dog on the plush Persian bed. My eyes felt hot and sticky from crying so much, my hair horribly tangled, my dress badly wrinkled. All of my strength, passion, and renewed love for life seemed lost to me all over again, only now the void was almost greater than it had been since my father died.

My father's death, at least, had not been my fault.

"I'm so stupid." I murmured to myself. "Look at you. Here you are, feeling sorry for yourself, when it's Erik's heart you broke. You're nothing more than a spoiled, selfish brat, Christine Daaé, and a coward on top of that."

The urge to apologize to Erik – no, to _grovel_ at his feet for forgiveness – was eating me alive.

And yet, I did not think I had the strength, nor the courage, to face him again. I did not know if he was even still mad at me or not. Besides, what could I possibly say to make amends with him? '_Erik, I'm sorry I was so shock-__stilled and terrified of you the other night, why don't you take off the mask now that I've decided to stop being such a child?'_

I snorted dryly to myself. It felt that no matter what I did, I would only make things worse.

What I needed right now was someone to talk to. Someone whom I could vent all my woes, my fears, and my sadness onto without fear of being judged, and, hopefully, receive some words of comfort, and some incisive advice that would hopefully help see me through this.

Right then, I needed someone like a _parent_.

Shakily, I rose from my bed, crossing over to my vanity to splash some water on my face, making myself a tad more presentable before leaving the chambers and heading for Rosie's apartments.

As much as I needed to talk to Rosie, to seek her advice from years of lived wisdom, there was still a part of me that dreaded the visit. I had, after all, promised her that I would stay away from Erik, and flat-out lied to her about ever even speaking to him when she had been so shocked when I told her I had been looking for him in the first place. I did not have a doubt that she would be displeased with me for not telling her the truth about Erik and I… But if I did not speak to someone, I felt as though I would burst.

With a shaking hand, I hesitantly knocked on Rosie's door, waiting for her to answer as I nervously shifted from one foot to the other. Rosie always took her meals in her room, so I did not have to worry about her not being there, but when the doorknob clicked and the door slowly swung inward to reveal an aged, wrinkled face, my stomach still gave a jerking lurch of anxiety. I didn't even have to say a word for the old maid to realize that there was something wrong.

"Good gracious, child!" Rosie gasped, pressing a hand over her heart. "What in the world happened to you?"

Grasping my hand tightly in both of hers, Rosie led me inside her small room. The door wasn't even properly shut before tears started to pour down my face once more. Rosie led me over to the cot she used as a bed, sitting me down before handing me a cool, damp cloth to dab my eyes and face with.

"There, there, dearest. It can't be that bad. Now, tell me what your awful cousin's done to you this time."

I choked on a sob, guilt rising in my throat like bile. Regardless of whether she would be angry at me or not based upon what I was about to tell her was not important; right then, I just needed to _tell_ her.

"Rosie…I'm so sorry..."

The whole story poured forth in a garbled mess of stammered words, tangled sentences and wet sobs. I told her everything from my first encounter with Erik in the tiger's cage until now: the lessons, his secret identity as a red-winged changeling, the torture chamber, even about Luciana, the girl from his past who had died of fright when she saw him without his mask.

Rosie did not say a word as the story was told to her, but I knew if I had stopped talking, I would have been too overcome with emotion to start again. After what seemed like hours, I was finally finished, complete with streaming eyes, runny nose and sore throat. Suddenly I was no longer sixteen years old, but rather four years old again, ready to receive my punishment for being a naughty, misbehaving child who had been keeping a terrible secret.

"I'm sorry." I babbled from under the cloth I pressed over my face. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… You made me promise me that I should have stayed away from him, and yet I went anyway, and now all this has happened. I hurt him, and I broke my promise to you… Rosie, I'm so sorry…"

I had honesty expected some sort of reprimand from the old woman, a "serves you right" speech that adults seemed so fond of giving to children who had done something they weren't supposed to. I was, to say the least, surprised when I felt her thin arms wrap around me and pull me towards her, holding me in the most motherly embrace I had ever had as I continued to cry freely into her dress.

"Sometimes, I forget that you are no longer a child, dearest, but rather a young woman, and a stubborn one at that. You no longer need to listen to someone telling you what and what not to do. I had a hunch that you would have gone to find that magician regardless of what anyone told you, so I can't say I'm surprised that you found him anyway. Although, seeing him for singing lessons did come off as being quite a surprise."

"What am I supposed to do, Rosie?" I whimpered. "I don't want it to end like this, but I have no idea how I'm supposed to fix it. I was such a coward… I couldn't even look at him. He hates me now, he must…"

"Do you believe that this Erik would ever harm you in any way?"

"No…well, at least I didn't. I still don't know. I suppose…that if he ever had a reason to, it would have been that night…"

"Do you think he would ever harm you?" The old woman repeated, more firmly this time.

I thought for a moment, remembering everything I knew – or at least, I thought I knew – about the man who was once my maestro. His rage from a few nights before had been terrifying, yes, but I also thought back to the night we had our lesson under the stars, how he held me on the balcony and promised that he would catch me if I fell…

"No. I know he wouldn't."

"Then an apology would not be a bad place to start."

"It would sound so pathetic, though…" I sniffed, wiping my nose with the back of my hand in a very un-ladylike manner.

"But it would be better than saying nothing at all. At least he would know. The rest of the rebuilding would be entirely his decision afterwards."

I dropped my gaze, tears threatening to form again. "But, Rosie…what if he does hate me? I don't know if I could live with that…"

"Believe me when I say this child; it would be a lot harder living with yourself if you never got to tell him you were sorry for what had happened. You can believe this old woman when she says that's not something you want hanging over your heart for the rest of your life."

I sighed dejectedly, but nonetheless took her advise to heart, knowing that an apology, no matter how weak it might have sounded, would be the first step in rebuilding what we once had…

_If it could ever be rebuilt_, I couldn't help but think gloomily.

"Christine…do you love this magician?"

Rosie's shockingly unexpected question caused me to gasp so sharply that I began to cough, my heart hammering hard behind my ribs as I fought to make sense of what she had just asked me.

"Do I…_what?_"

Rosie's deeply lined face stared at me with the most serious resolve I had ever seen as she slowly repeated her words: "Do you love him?"

My eyes continued to widen further in shock and I felt significantly light-headed as I tried to process what she had just asked me. "I…I don't… I mean, Erik's my teacher, I'm not supposed to think of him like that…"

But the truth was, I did, and I could not deny it. I could not and would not deny that I was infatuated with him, and had been since the moment I saw him in the gardens. His voice was as sensuous as any siren's song, his eyes passionate and captivating, and I felt particularly attracted to his wings, but I could have passed off my fondness of birds for that. However, late at night, after my lesson for the evening, I would lay awake, thinking of my maestro, recalling small details about him that I noticed during my time with him. I began to take note of the way he would unconsciously flick his long hair out of his eyes as he played, the way his long fingers would dance across the pale ivory keys of the piano, the unnatural grace he possessed whenever he made the slightest movement…

And that smile… that small, ghostly smile that would only momentarily pass over his features when I happened to please him with whatever aria we had worked on that night… My heart skipped a beat right then thinking of it.

But did I _love_ him? Could I have been in love with the man who rekindled my love of music and magic that I had thought was lost to me? Could I love a man who was secretly a changeling, hiding his beautiful wings from the world who would otherwise shun him? Was it possible to love someone who saw human death as an art and had a temper that could have made a lion cower in fright?

How was it possible to not love someone who held such a longing, such a passion in their eyes, only to be countered with an abysmal loneliness unlike I had ever seen before? Erik's eyes… They perhaps haunted me most at night. No matter what mood he was in – even when he was in his fury days before – there was some unspoken secret in their golden depths, a wishful longing for something he desperately yearned for, yet never had… Something that he knew was always beyond his reach, no matter how close it was to him.

_How was it possible to not love someone who harbored all sadness of the world in their eyes?_

_Eyes that have never seen…_

_Human compassion…_

_Human love…_

The tears I had fought to control slipped unheeded from my eyes once more, only now they were not tears of sadness.

Sitting beside me, I heard Rosie chuckle lightly. "Of all the people in the world to fall in love with, Christine Daaé…"

"But I'm not…I can't be…" my words sounded weak and useless, even to my own ears. "Besides, I barely know him… I know nothing _about_ him…"

"Hmm," Rosie began, pensively. "Maybe. Then again, no one ever questioned Romeo and Juliet. Sometimes, love happens before we ever realize it's there. No one can choose where they will find love."

"Rosie…what should I do?"

"Stay to the original plan. Apologize first. Then, if you two do so happen rebuild your bridges, I suggest you re-enact the events of that night, only knowing what you know now. Accept that his face is as horrible as he says it is, and you expect it to be, but at the same time keeping in mind that love knows no boundaries, even if the greatest of human flaws seem to be standing in your way."

I suddenly felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Rosie's sage-like words filled me with a newfound strength, inspiring within me the courage to finally stop running and do the right thing. I threw my arms around the old woman and hugged her tight with more energy and strength that I had in days. "Thank you, Rosie." I said with all the gratitude in the world in my voice before bouncing up off the cot and leaving the small room before she had the chance to say another word.

Night had almost completely fallen by the time I was on my way up to Erik's chambers, the velvety night sky was stained with a faint golden hue on the western horizon despite the stars that spangled the heavens, and the full moon was rising in the east. Something at the back of my mind nagged me that Erik probably was not in his chambers – I had learned that he took to wandering the palace at night, after our lessons were adjourned – but it seemed like the best place to start looking for him.

If I had to search the whole palace, so be it. I would not rest until I found him.

"Miss Daaé?"

I had been so intent on finding Erik that I was barely aware of anything else around me. Perhaps that was why I shrieked the way I did when the sound of my name broke through my thoughts.

Nadir Khan stood a little ways behind me with a rather amused look on his face. "Forgive me, mademoiselle. I figured you were in some sort of hurry if you could pass by without so much as a 'hello'."

I could not help the blush that came to my cheeks. I had been to wrapped up in my thoughts I didn't even see him coming the other way! "Oh…Monsieur Khan… I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

Nadir held up a hand as a peace offering, gently cutting off my apology. "It's quite all right. Funny how we keep running into one another like this, isn't it? Am I…keeping you from something? You were looking rather determined about something…"

For a brief moment, I was tempted to not tell the Persian man anything; I might have been spared a lecture from Rosie, but I had a strong suspicion I would not be so lucky if I told Nadir of my troubles I created with Erik. It occurred to me not more than a heartbeat later that out of anyone within the Mazanderan palace, excluding the shah and the khanum, I was talking to the one person who seemed to have the closest ties with my maestro. If anyone knew where Erik might have been, it would be Nadir Kahn.

"Actually, Monsieur, I was hoping you would perhaps help me. Do you know where Erik is?"

The good humor immediately vanished from Nadir's face, replaced by something darker and troubled, and I felt my heart sink a few inches in my chest. "Erik? Actually, I have not seem him in days myself. It's nothing new for him… Sometimes he goes into spells where he prefers to be alone, but that only really occurs after he has an audience with the khanum. I don't know what that woman does to him myself, but it's enough to discourage him away from human contact for a while. Did you need to see him?"

"Yes!" The words came out forcefully, taking the Daroga by surprise. I softened my voice, trying to take the franticness out of it. "Yes… I do need to see him, and it's of the utmost urgency. I would tell you, Monsieur," I added hastily at the sight of one of Nadir's eyebrows raising in suspicious question, "But it's really between me and him. If you could just help me find him…if you have any idea where he might be, or how I can get in contact with him, I would be eternally grateful."

For a moment, I was sure he would refuse my offer, and lapse back into a speech on how moody and unpredictable Erik was. _Well, that I already know_, I thought bitterly to myself. _At least I'll be a little more prepared next time…_

"I cannot promise you anything. But I shall try."

Hope flared in my chest. "Thank you, monsieur!"

I followed Nadir around the palace like an eager puppy, waiting with bated breath and pounding pulse every time he paused at a small, off-shot courtyard, or a hidden room, or some other forgotten secret place that I assumed were Erik's usual haunts. We searched for an hour, and during that time, my anxiousness to speak to Erik slowly began to diminish as doubt and cold apprehension as my nerve began to slip from me. What if he was watching us, knowing we were looking for him? What if he stayed in hiding for the rest of my time here in Persia? Then I would never be able to apologize…

Voices echoed dimly down the hallway adjacent to the one Nadir and I were currently walking through, and he held out an arm to stop me. The voices were speaking in their native Persian tongue, so I could not understand a word of it, but by the deepening frown on Nadir's face, I could tell it was nothing good.

"What's wrong?" I asked, my fingers gripping his sleeve.

"They are members of the Mazanderan court. Apparently there was a counsel today with the shah. They're saying the Grand Vizier and Erik had an awful disagreement during that time."

I felt my blood run cold. "What does that mean?"

"It means, Miss Daaé, that we are going to want to stay away from Erik tonight. When those two have a disagreement… Well, let's just say that no one will be sleeping well tonight. Come; I'll escort you back to your rooms."

Before I could question him further, a cold wind swept through the palace, and the light of the moon seemed to dim; a grim premonition of things to come.

For once, I was not going to argue.

**Author's Note:** So, I make you wait for the new chapter, and then I don't even give you Erik. I'm going to loose some appendage for that stunt.

Now then, the next chapter is the one I've been looking forward to writing. However, it is something of a nail-biter; not only for the readers, but for me as well. I know this fic's taken a huge leap in the Phantom fandom because it is so different, but I'm slightly anxious to see how many people react to it. I mean, I wasn't expecting so many people to be surprised by a talking Ayesha, so what I'm planning for the next… Well, it's not going to be anything _really_ weird, just very, very different; like, I'm sure it hasn't been attempted before in any fic to date. I might be wrong. There are quite a few out there. But, as far as I know, there isn't. I won't give anything away, but I only ask that you keep an open mind and remember that this _is_ a fantasy story, so I am allowed rather extensive leverage to do as I like. Regardless of what the opinions are after the chapter… Well, it won't discourage me from finishing it. This fandom needs its roots shaken up every now and then. It only takes on brave enough to rise to the challenge.

**Erisofchaos8:** Angst and fluff have to come in their own strides. The fluff shall return shortly. Sorry for the longish update, but I hope this chapter holds you over until the next.

**Jinxed4Ever:** Thanks much. Sorry for the delay.

**Twinkle22**: Thanks for your comments

**Miffster****** And update I shall. Thanks for reviewing.

**Diana-Lupin:** Yes, poor Erik. He's so easy to angst up, but he makes it so easy…

**Lothiel****** Yeah, I know what you mean. If a story's all angst, there's no conflict, and therefore no plot, which means I get bored. Then again, you need the right kind of angst, and careful to avoid cliques. On the other hand, if you write non-stop angst, nothing seems to get done, and the characters are running around in circles, which drives me bat sheezy as well. It's a delicate balance, really.

**Erik'sLittleLotte****** Angst and PotO kind of come hand-in-hand, lol. Thanks for the review!

**Witchy-grrl****** I made you cry? Aww, I'm sorry. Things will get better soon, I promise.

**Monimator****** Turn Ayesha into a human? Sounds plausible, but I'm too much of a hardcore Erik/Christine shipper to have it any other way, lol. Thank you for your comments.

**YoukoElfMaiden****** Thanks you very much!

**Mlle Skywalker:** You can take my hair. At least that grows back. And don't kill Christine yet, she still needs to redeem herself.

**Kainaku**** Hotaru:** Yeay, muffin! Only now that you've given me food, I'm following you home.

**Marie Phantom:** Good luck with your writing. Thanks for reviewing!

**Faerycatcher1:** Thank you for your comments!

**Kat097:** Aww, thank you very much! I'm flattered!

**OritPetra****** Aw heck, you're making me blush. Thanks for your comments, especially on technique and all that. At least I know I'm doing something right!


	11. Chapter Eight: The Changeling's Curse

**Author's Note:** I'm doing something a little different with this chapter. The first part was actually going to be another interlude, but it would have been so short it wouldn't have been worth it. It begins in third person point-of-view before changing back to Christine's perspective. Forgiveness if the page breaks are screwy, but it shouldn't be that hard to figure out. I also could have split this chapter up into another two parts…but I think I owe you guys a nice, long, Erik/Christine angst/fluff chapter after putting you through so much already. Yes, the fluff has finally returned, and will remain so for a bit longer. Angst is good and all, but every now and then a break is needed.

Also, keep in mind; this is a fantasy story. Don't let the content of this chapter scare you away as long as you remember that.

Another million thanks to my beta, OritPetra, for her awesome beta skills and encouragement.

****

**Chapter Eight**

**The Changeling's Curse**

The Grand Vizier returned to his chambers that night in a rage unlike he had ever known before.

How dare he! How dare that…that…_corpse_…embarrass him in front of the shah, before the very Shadow of God himself!The Grand Vizier sneered, his teeth grinding together painfully. Ever since that abomination arrived in the Mazanderan court as the khanum's new pet, the shah had fawned over him as though he were a gift from Allah himself. That worthless magician… What made him so special that his Imperial Majesty confined to his every suggestion, abided to every absurd suggestion he made in court?

Did forty years of service suddenly mean _nothing_ to the shah? Forty years of loyal, _unquestioned_ service, despite all the power the Grand Vizier possessed, despite what he could do to this feeble little kingdom with a mere snapping of his fingers? Was forty years of service wasted on a living skeleton who performed parlor tricks for the shah's insignificant foreign guests?

For two years the Grand Vizier had put up with the magician's presence, waiting patiently for the time when the khanum would inevitably get tired of her new pet and throw him to the jackals. But now it was two years too long! Especially after today…

The shah had called a counsel that day concerning a matter wrapped around the numerous issues that continued to plague the Persian kingdom, particularly with the increasing raids and rebellions to the north. Both the Grand Vizier and the magician had put in their suggestions…and, of course, the shah had gone with the corpse's suggestion instead.

But what did that disgrace do? He continued on to openly mock the Grand Vizier, earning a barking laugh from the Glory of the World himself, who agreed to the magician's every word!

The Grand Vizier's vision bled crimson at the memory, and he openly growled in frustration as he threw the doors of his personal apartments open. The room beyond was dark and freezing cold, lit only by the glow of a scant handful of oil lamps and the faint hue of the dozens of potion bottles lining the walls, glowing with their own internal power. The various unnamed creatures he kept locked in cages in the darkest corners of the chambers hissed and rattled behind the bars, shrinking away at the Grand Vizier's rage.

With a savage snarl, the Grand Vizier seized a bottle from the shelves.

"Never again!" he hissed.

The man crossed the room to a huge bronze cauldron, large enough to fit a grown man in, sitting over a fire pit of green flames. The Grand Vizier threw the bottle into the cauldron with an ear-splitting crash, sending up plumes of green and sickly purple smoke from the shards of broken glass.

"Never again!"

The green and purple smoke spiraled up towards the ceiling, growing in speed and ferocity until the cauldron spewed forth a howling vortex, snarling like a hungry animal preparing for the hunt.

"Let's see him make a fool of me again! By the time I'm finished with him, that wretched death's head of his will seem like a blessing!"

Out of the vortex sprung a hoard of vile winged creatures -- wraith-like demons with large, leathery wings, and dagger-like claws and teeth; all screaming horribly, hungrily, before taking flight out the large open windows and into the night.

Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

The night that had started out fair and clear was suddenly consumed by a tempest. Dark clouds rolled over the moon in the space of a heartbeat, and a wind as cold as those in the Arctic howled through the palace, biting through the layers of heavy cotton I wore and freezing me straight to my bone marrow. All around us I could hear the frightened screams of birds and other animals, and a dread unlike I had never known before gripped my insides, refusing to let go.

"What's happening?" I called to Nadir over the wind, my hair whipping mercilessly around my face.

"I was afraid something like this would happen! Confrontations between Erik and the Grand Vizier never end on a good note, and if their argument today was as bad as they were talking about..."

"What are you saying?" I yelled back. "Are you telling me that this storm is a result of their argument?"

"I wouldn't doubt it! Come, we have to get you back to your rooms before…"

A horrible scream tore through the air over the howl of the wind. First there was only one, then it was joined by multitudes more, freezing my blood in my veins and making me clasp my hands over my ears, twisting my insides with paralyzing fear. Something else was screaming within those demonic wails, and it took me a moment for me to realize that the second scream was being ripped from my own throat.

Nadir cursed loudly beside me in Persian, the horror and panic in his voice mirroring the terror that raged within me. When I was finally about to open my eyes again – I had not even realized that I had been squeezing them shut so tightly – I looked up in horror to see a flock of winged _creatures_ swarming through the air, hungry for flesh, hungry for blood; I could tell that just by looking at them. I clutched at Nadir's sleeve. "What _are_ they?"

"I don't know, but they had to have been sent by the Grand Vizier. They are heading straight for Erik's rooms!"

"For…Erik's… Nadir, we have to do something!"

"Go back to your rooms, Christine! This is no place for you!"

I frowned through my fear, standing my ground. "No! If he's in danger, I'm not going to just leave him!"

"This is too dangerous for you, child! Go back to your rooms!" Without waiting for my retaliation, Nadir turned sharply and ran towards Erik's apartments without a backwards glance.

Reason told me to obey him and return to my apartments until the danger had passed. But I never had been one to listen to reason.

Gathering up my skirts, I followed Nadir with my heart in my throat, my thoughts and fears revolving around Erik. Suddenly, the events that had taken place days ago – the torture chamber, his dark mood swing, even the horror of his face that I had refuse to see – all seemed so small and insignificant. All I care about now was his safety in the wrath of the Grand Vizier.

_Erik's a magician… Erik's a powerful magician. Being able to conceal his changeling form is enough to prove that. That means he can fight off whatever the Vizier throws at him right? _I told myself this over and over whilst I followed not more than a hair's breadth behind Nadir as we tore through the palace towards Erik's private chambers, the monsters continuing to howl and scream from above. Oh God, there were so many of them…

_But what if the Vizier is attacking for a different reason? What if Erik's weak somehow, and the Vizier knows that? Could it be because of what I did? Erik, oh Erik…please, please be safe, at least until we get there…_

I caught up with Nadir at the doors to Erik's apartment, both of us ignoring our labored breathing due to the urgency of the situation. My stomach turned over when I realized I could hear the shrieking of the winged demons coming from just the other side of the massive doors.

"Christine!" Nadir's voice was a tangle of disbelief and rage. "I thought I told you to stay behind! You'll only get hurt!"

I ignored the Daroga of Mazanderan and pulled the doors open.

The sight that fell before me caused me to utter a small scream of fear and sorrow. The once beautiful chambers of my maestro, shrouded in magic and mystery, lay in ruins: the curtains hung in ragged tatters, the bookshelves overturned, their contents torn to shreds. The magnificent German piano had been destroyed, violently upturned in a mess of splintered wood and shattered ivory keys. And flying about the room like bats out of hell were dozens upon dozens of the winged monsters, all howling and screaming; driving me to the brink of insanity and back again with their demonic din. They did not seem to sense us, yet, and were rather converging around a lone figure in the room…

A bright burst of orange light flared from the center of the chamber, and with an ear-piercing shriek, several of the creatures fell from the air into a smoldering, stinking heap onto the ground. In the light of the fireball I could see Erik in the middle of the demon's hoard, his wings fully unfurled, the beautiful feathers badly broken and disheveled as he fought to keep the monsters at bay. They were attacking him from all sides, tearing, slashing, and outnumbering him a hundred to one…

"Oh, God! Erik!" Despite the sheer danger of the situation, and that I very well knew that I could end up dead if I tried to go to him, my actions were no longer my own; all I knew was I just had to get to him!

"Christine, no!" Nadir shouted from behind; or at least I thought he did. I was not sure. I did not care. All logical thought seemed to cease. All that mattered was whether or not I got to the winged man who was fighting for his life, despite having no idea what I could do to help him… The Daroga was grabbing my arms from behind, fighting to pull me back, but I fought against him, pushing forward.

It was at my cry that the demons finally took notice of us. Before I could register what was happening, no less than half a dozen of the monsters broke away from the rest of the swarm and were quickly falling upon us, claws outstretched and feral snarls pulling at their ugly, pointed faces, ready to tear us apart…

A scream of cold terror escaped my mouth and joined their demonic shrieks, as I huddled against Nadir, waiting for the pain and blood to come…

There was another blaze from a magical fireball, so bright I felt as though I had been blinded, and so close I could feel the heat on my face. The vicious creatures that were flying towards us fell dead to the ground, limbs twitching and scorched flesh cracking and splitting with every movement. I felt my stomach lurch as I fought back a wave of nausea that nearly overcame me.

The chaos in the room suddenly ended abruptly, as though turned off by a switch. The demons attacking Erik took note of their fallen brethren, their attention back on Nadir Kahn and I, and for reasons still unknown to me, vanished into thin air, as though they had never been there in the first place.

Erik's chambers fell as silent as a tomb; papers from destroyed books and shredded scraps of cloth were floating gently back to the ground. The ruined curtains fluttered as the pale moonlight filtered through the tattered cloth, giving the room a ghostly aura that chilled me to the bone. The whole scene before me suddenly seemed as fragile as blown glass, and I was afraid to move, afraid to breath, as though any actions would shatter the world and all hell would break loose again.

_Erik…_

My mind was torn away from any other thoughts as I frantically sought Erik, pulling away from Nadir and venturing cautiously into the apartment.

Erik still stood in the center of the room, as though it took him a moment to realize that the demonic creatures were no longer there. Then, as though moving in slow motion, he stumbled backwards, emitting a low moan that shook me to my core before collapsing forward, his wings spread out like a great cloak behind him.

"Erik…" His name slipped past my lips as I made my way towards him. I felt as though I was moving through a dream, moving through water, an invisible force trying to keep me away from the fallen man before me…

"Erik?" Nadir Kahn said, coming up beside me, his voice drastically stronger and more collected than I was feeling. "Erik…are you badly hurt? Please, say something…"

Trembling, Erik pushed himself up on his hands, trying to rise to a shaking sitting position. I could barely contain a whimpering sob as I saw the pools of dark liquid splattering the tiled flood under him, and in the moonlight I could see great drops of blood falling from his face, and from underneath his matted hair. Raising one skeletal hand, Erik brought his fingers to his face as I was finally close enough to reach out and touch him…

My heart leapt in my chest as a ragged snarl tore from Erik's throat, a horrid sound that I never thought his usually angelic voice would ever have been capable of. He rounded on Nadir and myself, his face hidden behind his hand, but even in the darkness of his chambers I could see the insane gleam in his golden eyes, a shadow of panic, of dread, of his worse nightmares coming to life in the waking world.

"_Don't look at me!"_

I froze in my tracks, my hand retreating back to my chest as if the ferocity of Erik's words had struck me. I felt numb, and my heart constricted painfully in the cavity of my chest. I did not even have to ask him what he meant, for I saw it then on the ground; Erik's mask, laying on the cold tile, torn savagely in two.

I could not make myself care about it in one way or another. "Erik, please…"

"_Daroga, you bloody fool! Get her out of here!_"

Nadir's hand came down on my arm, pulling me gently away from the winged man on the floor with a firm, persistent grip. "Christine, come… There's nothing more you can do here…"

_NO!_ My mind screamed. _No! I will not be made into the helpless damsel in distress! Erik _needs_ me, damned what anyone else says!_

I tore away from Nadir's grasp with a strength I had never before thought I possessed, darting out of the way before he had the chance to grab me again. Collapsing at Erik's side, I grabbed handfuls of robes that covered his broad shoulders, wincing when I felt that the cloth was wet and sticky under my fingers.

"Erik! Erik, please, don't send me away. Please, let me help you… please…"

When he still refused to look at me, with both hands still clasped tightly over his face, I reached forward with trembling hands of my own, taking hold of his thin wrists, trying to get him to look at me. I no longer cared what he looked like, _whatever_ he may have looked like. All I cared about then was that he was injured, but I would not know how badly until I could see the damage properly…

Erik moved with the speed of a striking viper, his hands suddenly closing around my tiny wrists with a vice-tight grip, making me gasp and cry out in pain as it felt as though he was crushing my hands, then pulling me painfully up by my arms. It had all happened so fast, I was barely aware of it happening at all – it was as if I was still trapped in a dream, some horrible nightmare come to life – but the cry of grief and the hiss of unbridled rage in Erik's voice told me that this was all very, very real.

"_Look!"_ Erik raged, his face inches from my own. "_Is this what you wanted to see, Christine! Look then! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on the face of a living corpse!"_

My eyes snapped open then, finally looking onto Erik's completely unmasked face, exposed to me, exposed to the world…

I did not have the breath to emit even a whimper to reflect the shock and horror that coursed through me.

Erik's eyes – those vibrant, burning eyes that I had fallen in love with the first time I saw them – were the only part of Erik that I recognized. Staring down at me was not the face of a man, but the face of death, a snarling skull that froze my soul and caused my heart to tremble and whither in my chest. The skin of his face was pulled taught over the bone, stretched as thin as parchment, and I could see with revulsion the pulse of the blue veins interlacing across prominent cheekbones and forehead, where the pale bone of his brow was indeed exposed. The face of death… including the way his eyes were sunken back into their sockets, and his nose… Dear God, there was only a hole in his face where his nose should have been, as though it had never grown in the first place.

_Wake up…_

It couldn't be real.

_Wake up…_

It wasn't possible…

_Wake up!_

How could anyone living look like that! I was staring into the face of a nightmare, a face that seemed to evade even all the boundless limitations that magic, both white and black, could show the human mind…

"Are you happy now, Christine? Is your curiosity finally satisfied?" Erik snarled down at me, pulling me closer to him. A thin stream of blood trickled down over the chalky skin of his face, and over the ridge of his sunken cheek. A ragged sob escaped my throat, and I tired to look away, but Erik's other hand came up to grasp my chin with equal brutal strength, his talon-like nails digging into my skin. "Is this what you wanted to see? The face of a soulless _corpse!_ Then take a good look, Christine! _Don't you dare try to look away!_"

"Erik…Erik please…" I gasped out, but I could say no more as his ever-tightening grasp began to choke off my supply of air…

"'Please _what?_" Erik repeated, his voice taking on a cruel, mocking tone that bordered on the very edge of insanity. "Say it, Christine! Are you sorry for what you've brought onto yourself? Are you disappointed? By all means, say it!"

"ERIK! Stop this is instant!" I felt myself lurch when Nadir threw his weight into Erik's shoulder, trying to break his hold on me. "So help me Erik, I don't want to, but if you don't release that girl this instant…"

"Or you'll _what?"_ Erik released his hold on my wrist and lashed at Nadir, his hand striking across the other man's head with such force that it knocked the Persian away, sending him sliding across the flood and into the remains of the ruined piano. "I've grown quite tired of your infernal badgering! It was Christine's choice to look upon me, and her choice alone!"

Erik turned back towards me, his lips pulled back in an awful sneer, and I noted with a look of growing horror that he suddenly looked less human than he did even with his mask off. For whatever reasons unknown to me, the feathers of his wings, no longer beautiful but now ragged and wild, had spread across him like a disease, covering his shoulders and down his arms before climbing up his neck and towards his face. His face itself was still skull-like, still horrible, but had taken on a look that was much more feral, hovering just in between the line of man and beast…

_The changeling's curse…_

"Are you happy now, Christine?" Erik's grip tightened around my throat, and I could feel with a new wave of anxiety that his razor sharp claws were growing longer, digging into my skin and drawing the smallest drops of blood. "Can you understand now why Luciana died after seeing me? You should be thanking me for keeping you from falling to your death just as she did, or finding some other foolish way to end your life after seeing my true self! Take a good last look, because I can promise you that you won't be seeing it again! You are repulsed by me, I can see it! You will run…and you will leave…just as the khanum said you would!"

The tears that had flooded my eyes finally flowed down my face, and with them flowed the fear and repulsion that I had felt in my body merely moments ago when I first laid my eyes upon Erik's unmasked face. It suddenly seemed so far away and unimportant, and I was crushed under my own guilt and shame for being so childishly afraid only a few minutes before.

Erik's eyes – those beautiful golden irises that showed me his soul – were still the same, no matter what he looked like, no matter how the changeling's curse could change him. And right now, underneath the mask of rage, I could see a terrible sorrow that would make the devil himself weep, and the broken heart that still beat within his chest continued to cry for the acceptance he had long ago known would be denied to him forever because of a force of nature completely beyond his control.

Erik waited for me to respond, his eyes boring into my own, waiting for the scream of terror, the pitiful sobbing for mercy he was sure would come as soon as my initial fear passed.

Slowly, I brought my hands up with numb, shaking movements, until I found his own hand that was still holding onto my face, my cold fingers wrapping around his wrist. Gone was the human skin, only to be replaced by thick feathers and hard scales, but that held no relevance to me either. Hot tears fell from my eyes and over his fingers as I moved my head, ignoring the way his claws bit deeper into my skin, nuzzling the clammy skin of his palm.

_Right now, I would give anything in the world just to be on that balcony again, under the night sky, where only you and the music were the only things in the world…_

How I wish I could have told him those words, but it seemed that it took all my courage to whisper three pitiful words…

"I'm so sorry…"

Whatever it was Erik had expected me to say, it certainly was not that. The hellish fury immediately vanished from his eyes, like someone blowing out a candle, and the terrifying aura that surrounded him fled, making him seem small and defenceless unlike I had never seen him before. I did not even know what I was sorry for, so I was sorry for everything; his face, his pain, his anger, the fact that he was so hopelessly convinced that I would reject him the same way Luciana did, that seeing him would drive me to take my own life…

No matter what Erik might look like, now or ever, he would still be an angel to me. A tragic, fallen angel, but still my angel nonetheless.

Erik's hold on my face slackened, then he pulled away, leaving me feeling cold and helpless again.

"Erik…"

His entire body trembled as he brought both hands up to cover his face, trying to hide himself once more from my sight.

"Erik, please…"

He emitted a low moan, a sound that would have broken the heart of anyone who heard it before he turned away from me. His wings unfurled to their full span, and with one powerful thrust, Erik fled from the room, out the wide window, taking flight to some unknown part of the Mazanderan palace. I called out after him, running to the window he disappeared through, but when I looked over the edge he was no where to be seen.

"Erik!" I called again, but was only answered by silence. I felt something wet and sticky under my fingers, and when I looked, I realized that my hand was sitting in a pool of blood. My terror outweighed my repulsion.

Erik was hurt, and if he was bleeding that badly…

It then occurred to me that Erik's injuries were only a part of his problems.

Erik was out in the palace, not only with his changeling's wings in full sight, but in his anger and his agony, the changeling's curse had fallen upon him. The magic that he could normally wield with such mastery had taken advantage of him and his weakened state, of rampaging emotions it had taken control of him in both body and soul, enhancing his changeling form into something beyond human…

The memory of the night Nadir told me Erik was a changeling resurfaced in my mind, and the Daroga's words came back to haunt me. _No one else knows of this, however. If anyone of the Mazanderan court discovered that about him, he would most likely be tortured and killed for such treason, and probably by the khanum's own orders. _

_Oh God…Oh God, if someone finds Erik… If they discover that he's a changeling…_

Tearing myself away from the window, I made my way towards the door at a sprint until a blood-curling yowl caught my attention. In a flying fury of fur and bat wings, Ayesha came rounding out from around a corner further back in the room, tangled with the shadowy form of one of the last demon creatures that had been attacking Erik. Without thinking of my actions, I grabbed the closest object I could find – a broken piece of polished wood from the piano – and hurled it at the demon that was ready to tear the cat limb from limb. The wood struck true, colliding with the creature's head, sending it flying off Ayesha before vanishing in a puff of smoke.

"Ayesha!" I called to the cat, making my way to her small, motionless body. Blood splattered her creamy coat. "Ayesha, Ayesha, please don't be dead…"

To my relief, Ayesha coughed, her blue eyes snapping open. Sighing in relief, I picked her up, bringing her over to the remains of Erik's bed, complete with shredded mattress and broken frame. "Ayesha…are you alright?"

"Christine?" The cat said, her voice weak as she turned her pointed head to look up at me. "Is that you? What happened? Those things…they came out of nowhere… Where's Erik? Is he okay?"

I half-dreaded telling Ayesha the truth, but I doubted the cat had the strength to claw my face off if I told her that her master fled from the room with the changeling magic rampaging through him, badly injured and half-mad with grief.

"I'm going to look for him." I told the cat. "I'm going to find him. I'm going to bring him back. He'll be alright, Ayesha, I promise." Leaving the cat on the bed, I quickly crossed back over the chamber to the ruins of the piano, where Nadir still lay, motionless, on the ground. Holding my breath, I pressed my fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse, and exhaling when there was one to be found. Erik had struck the Persian hard enough to knock him out cold, but it looked to me that there was no real serious damage.

"Ayesha, when Nadir wakes up, tell him to try to find us."

Without waiting for her response, I dashed out the door, out into the empty, tomb-like palace in search of my fallen angel.

Tracking Erik down proved to be much easier than I had anticipated. This was both good and bad, seeing as it was a trail of fallen blood that guided me to his location.

_Blood… There's so much blood…_

Was he really hurt that badly? What if it was too late by the time I found him…?

_No! No, don't think about that, not right now. You need to _find_ him first! That's the only thing you need to be worrying about!_

Sealing myself against the worse possible situations, I pushed myself forward, determined to find Erik, no matter what the outcome might have been. I owed him at least that much.

The trail of blood led me to a small, out-of-sight garden, shrouded in the darkness of night, but the noise of running water sounded uncomfortably loud in my ears, as though it was betraying Erik's location to those whom were not supposed to find him. I held my breath again, my heart thumping behind my ribs. What was I going to find when I entered the garden? Was I going to find Erik, less than human but still alive? Or would my heart be broken beyond repair, and I would spend the rest of my days mourning the loss of a love that never was?

I was wasting time standing there wondering. I prayed to God that all would turn out well in the end before making my way into the garden.

Erik lay halfway in a pool of water, his legs submerged below the cold surface while the rest of his body lay on the mossy ground. His face was hidden from my view, and his wings were horribly crumpled beneath him. Blood clouded the water around his still form, but I could see even at this distance that he was still breathing, no matter how faintly. I choked back a sob at the heartbreaking sight he made.

"Erik?"

Erik's wings twitched, but he made no other movement, nor did he further acknowledge my presence.

"Erik…" I took a step forward, slowly making my way towards him, my hand outstretched. This time, Erik made a stronger response to my voice, raising his head from the ground and pushing himself onto his stomach.

I could see the changes that the curse had bestowed on him immediately. His long hair had taken on a look that was more like feathers than human hair, and his hands and fingers were more like bird's talons than human hands, his nails now an ebony black and at least a foot long. I shivered in spite of myself, but refused to let my fear get the best of me. Not this time.

"Christine…"

His voice was not his own. Gone was the voice of the angels, replaced by a throaty rasp that sounded more animal than man. Still, I could not help but smile, even if it was as small and weak as it was. He still recognized me at least. At least he was still alive…

"Oh Erik," I breathed, slowly making my way towards his fallen form. "Thank God…"

"Go away."

I stopped in my tracks, my smile vanishing as though it never was. "Erik…?"

"_Stay away from me!"_

I took an involuntary step backwards, but still refused to leave, even at his sharp, harsh command.

"_Why are you still here!_" He turned his head to my direction, and a new wave of dismay passed through me. I could not see his eyes as they were hidden by the thick tufts of feathers that now replaced his hair, but his face – although still a death's head – was no longer resembled the skull of a human, but more of some sort of animal. The changeling's curse had taken its full and terrifying effect, and I began to panic inwardly: _I can still get him to change back, right? If I can convince him I'm not afraid of him – Oh God, I don't want to be afraid of him! – would he calm down enough to become human again? Or is it already too late for us?_

I refused to be discouraged. If I waited too long, then it truly would be too late for the both of us.

"What's wrong with you!" Erik demanded, and I could see the teeth in his mouth, long and sharp, gleaming against the moonlight. "Can't you see straight! Don't I repulse you? Don't I disgust you! Or have you merely come to stare at the _freak_ that you've always known I have been!"

"How can you say that, Erik?" Tears prickled my eyes that I refused to let fall. I would not let him scare me away, not this time. I moved forward again, promising myself – promising him – that I would not run away again. "Please, Erik, you're hurt. Let me help you, please…" I reached out again, this time my fingers coming inches away from the feathers that now covered his shoulders…

"_Don't touch me!"_ Erik snarled again, and once more I pulled my hand away again, but I did not retreat. "Just leave me alone, Christine! I don't want your pity, or your fear! If you come any closer, I'll cut you to pieces!"

"No." I said firmly, my voice even and possessing a degree of strength that I did not think possible. "You won't."

"And why would that be?" he hissed.

"Because you said you wouldn't." Before he had the chance to respond, I lunged forward, wrapping myself around one of his arms and holding onto him as though he were my very lifeline. A deep growl rumbled within his throat, and he made an attempt to pull away, but he made no move to slash at me, to push me away in any form…just as I knew he wouldn't. Erik may have looked like a monster, but he was still _my_ Erik underneath the changeling's exterior. No amount of magic in the world could change that.

"Leave me, Christine. Leave me to my own loathsome existence…"

"No." I choked out. The tears I had been fighting so long to contain finally escaped from my eyes, coursing down my cheeks and falling into the feathers I had buried my face into. "Erik…Erik, please… You have to come back with me. You have to move; you have to get out of here. If anyone finds you…if the shah finds out that you're a changeling…he'll kill you, Erik. And you're hurt. If you stay here, you'll die anyway. Please…I don't care what you look like, changeling or not. I just want to be with you…" My voice dissolved into a sob, but Erik remained still, unmoved by the plea.

"Don't be a fool." His voice was still a low hiss, but there was a different tone to it now. It was that of immense sadness, of hopelessness, and ready to admit defeat in a battle he had been fighting for a very, very long time. "Don't pretend like nothing's changed. How can you bear to look at me now that you know what I am, now that you've seen beyond the mask? Don't bother to continue to pretend like you care. Just leave me be…"

"That's not true!" I cried into his shoulder, clinging to him even tighter. "I know you're afraid, Erik. I understand now why you showed me the torture chamber, why you wanted me to see you, but I promise you Erik, I promise as sure as the sun rises every day, I won't leave you. I won't betray you, I won't ever run away… I don't care what you say, your face doesn't change a damn thing, or I wouldn't love you so if it did!"

A small gasp caught in my throat. Had I really just told him that I loved him, when I had only discovered the truth for myself mere hours before? It didn't matter now. The words had been spoken, and nothing I could do or say would take them back.

I would not have had it any other way.

A deep shudder coursed through Erik's body as he curled tighter around himself. For the briefest second, I was anticipated an outburst of anger unlike I had seen before, or for him to try to escape again. But Erik did neither, and rather remained huddled on the ground, half-in and half-out of the pool of water, trembling so badly it felt as though he would undo himself at the seams. When he spoke, his voice was a scant whisper. "Don't speak such lies, Christine. Not even God Himself would be that cruel…"

His words broke off into a sob, and my heart bled for him.

Slowly, I uncoiled my arms from around his own, my hands tracing up his shoulder, then entwining my arms around his neck. I shifted slightly, moving so that I was now in front of him, guiding his now-animalistic head forwards until it rested over my shoulder with my arms secured tightly around his neck and back. Tears leaked from my eyes as I buried my face in the feathers that covered his scalp, Erik still trembling in my arms like the last leaf on a tree before winter.

I breathed in deeply, and realized that no matter how much the magic rampaging through him could change him, his scent would always be the same. An intoxicating mixture of spices and wood smoke and the natural scent of a man that I had come to associate with a feeling of comfort -- with a feeling of _home_.

It did not matter what Erik looked like, mask or no mask… He was still my maestro. My dark magician. The man who saved me from my own darkness while he was still shackled within his own.

"You don't have to believe me now." I whispered, my lips brushing over the exposed bone of his cheek. "But maybe someday you will. Everything will be all right now. I'm here."

Erik said nothing, nor did he try to pull away. I knew with a small pang of anxiety that the longer we remained in that garden, the more likely it would be that someone would see us; a young foreign woman embracing a winged changeling in the middle of the night. I had to find a way to keep Erik calm, to take his mind off his woes until I could either convince him to move, or until Nadir finally found us…

I was at a loss of what I could until one of the two options became open to us, so I did the only thing I could do. Holding Erik tighter to me, I began to sing softly into his ear…

_Oh night thou was my guide,  
Oh night more loving than the rising sun!_

_Oh night that joined the lover to the beloved one,  
Transforming each of them into the other…_

I continued to sing whatever phrases of song came to mind, cradling him with my voice, hoping, praying to God above, that it would do some good…It was the only real magic that I possessed.

After some time, I felt Erik shudder and sigh against my throat; the first of any movement in a very long time. He seemed smaller again somehow, and when I moved my hands across his shoulders, I noticed with a flare of hope that the feathers that had grown across his arms were gone although his wings were still unfurled around him. His hands no longer resembled the talons of a bird, and his soft, long hair tickled my throat. Carefully, I moved my head to look down at him. The shadows of the garden hid most all of his face from view, but I knew that he had indeed completely returned to normal, and no longer had the head face of an animal. In the light of the moon, I did happen to catch sight of the glisten of tear-tracks running down from his sunken eyes and skeletal cheeks, mixing with the blood and injuries inflicted by the monsters in the attack…

"Christine…"

An angel's voice touched my soul, and I could not contain my gasp of relief and unparalleled joy as I clutched him tighter to me, my tears falling onto his face and mingling with his own.

It was at that moment that Nadir entered the garden, looking far worse than wear, but still alive and healthy all the same: a savior of mercy. With the Daroga here, I no longer had any fear of unwanted eyes finding us before I had the chance to get Erik to safety.

Still refusing to relinquish my hold of the man in my arms, I looked up towards the night sky, my silent words meant for God, for Allah, for anyone who might have been looking down on us that night.

_Thank you…_

**Author's Note:** Well. At least that's out of the way. More fluff to come.

The song at the end was from Loreena McKennitt's "Dark Night of the Soul".

**Lothiel:** Sorry for making you wait for so long. I know the feeling, there are several fics I check for updates like, ritually (glares at _A Feast for Crows)_. Yesh, Christine finally gets her priorities straight, and gets to talk to Erik…more or less…in this chapter. I hope it lived up to your expectations.

**ErisofChaos8:** Thank you very much, every review means a lot to me!

**Twinkle22:** What is it with my FFN reviewers wanting to inflict bodily harm on me? Haha, it's all good. At least it gives me the motivation I need to finish this chapter. I dread to think what will happen if I ever stop (which isn't likely).

**Diana-Lupin:** Again with the bodily harm! I'm so not going to survive writing this thing, but I guess I'm rather committed now, lol.

**Jinxed4Ever:** I think you might have mentioned it once or twice, lol. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. Good luck with your own stories.

**Cinnimon:** He's back, he's back, he's back! No chairs, please! They hurt.

**Mlle. Skywalker:** The walls are beginning to come down. I hope she's redeemed herself a bit on your eyes with this one. Can I keep all my body parts this time?

**InvaderOperaGhost:** I'm very glad you do. Thanks for reviewing!

**Kainaku Hotaru:** Just tell her I'm a starving artist and maybe she'll reconsider, lol. Yeay, more muffins! You're definitely stuck with me now.

**Faeriechatcher1:** Angst is good when in the right dosage. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Anri:** Thanks for your kind comments!

**Mominator:** Thank you for your comments. I'm glad I could meet your expectations to where you enjoy it. And thank you for the congrats!

**PhantomLover05:** If who's dead, Erik? Don't worry, I'm not that mean, lol.

**OritPetra:** Once again, thanks for all your support and encouragement. It really means a lot to me!


	12. Chapter Nine: Descent Into Dreams

**Author's Note:** Uweh, I'm sorry this one took so long. The first part just did not want to be written, and then my sister abducted my copy of _Phantom_, then kept leaving it at school… Well, you'll see why that's important later on. Thank you all for the great feedback for the last chapter! So…many…reviews! I feel so grateful and unworthy of all your kind words! Much love to you all!

And, as always, much love to my beta, OritPetra, who still manages to take time out of her busy schedule to edit this story for me.

**Chapter Nine**

**Descent Into Dreams**

I was still clutching Erik protectively to my breast as Nadir approached us, and I noticed he was carrying a very large piece of cloth, although I could not figure out what for. A trail of blood, a souvenir from Erik's blow, ran thickly down his dark face, but even in the darkness I could tell that it was already clotting, so it couldn't have been serious. Erik did not stir as the Persian approached, but I could not tell if he was at last unconscious, or if he was merely ignoring the Daroga's presence all together.

"Is he…" Nadir began warily, and I quickly and violently shook my head.

"No. No, he's alive, I just think he's passed out. But he's bleeding; I can't tell how bad his injuries are."

_Or how much longer he'll hold out_. I thought darkly, my stomach sinking. Erik was still alive, I could still feel his chest moving and his warm breath on my neck, but even I could not deny that both actions were growing weaker with each passing moment.

"Then we have to get him back to his room." Nadir began to unfold the cloth, and I was able to assume that it was a piece of the ruined curtains from Erik's chamber. Nadir then draped the curtain over Erik, creating a makeshift cloak that efficiently covered his wings from view of unwanted eyes. True, they were not hidden completely and a large, awkward looking hump remained on his back, but it would have been enough to keep any half-wit servant from running to the shah to report that a changeling was in the palace. A small surge of gratitude swelled inside me. _God bless you, Nadir Kahn._

He had something else with him too, something that gleamed white in the moonlight...

"But I thought his mask was destroyed."

"Erik keeps a surprising amount of spares with him." Nadir said calmly, pressing the mask over Erik's face. "Just in case something like this were to happen. The last thing we need right now is someone to see him with his wings and without his mask. The whole palace would be in an uproar within the hour."

I reluctantly relinquished Erik from my hold, allowing Nadir to take hold of him instead, draping one motionless arm over his shoulders and pulling Erik up into a slumping stand. Erik did not move or respond, his chin remaining tucked into his chest.

"Christine… I can't carry him on my own. You're going to have to help."

Without having to be asked further, I was at Erik's other side, wrapping my arms around his waist and supporting as much weight as I could against myself, slightly surprised that I could get my arms around him so easily. He was so thin, and so light, despite the unwanted weight his wings added on. Above me, Erik groaned, and I clutched him tighter to me, hoping that he could feel my embrace through the layers of sleep he was shrouded in, that even though he was unconscious and in pain, my touch would still comfort him.

Slowly, step by shaking step, we made our way out of the garden and back into the empty hallways, an awkward creature made of three bodies and six legs, two of which dragged limply in between. Erik's wings were also a hindrance to our progress, seeing how they made an awkward counter-weight that threatened to pull us backwards without their owner's control. Every so often, Erik would shift and struggle in his sleep, causing both Nadir and I to loose our grip on him, and scrambling to re-support him before he had the chance to fall. Even in his unconscious state, he was still remarkably strong.

After what seemed like an eternity, we finally made it back to the ruins of Erik's chambers, which were still, thankfully, unoccupied. I doubted that the Grand Vizier would try to make a second attempt to attack Erik on the same night. Those winged monsters had to have gotten more attention than just our own. Straining under the weight of the unconscious man in between us, Nadir and I made the last strained steps over to his bed, and with twin groans of relief, laid him down on the shredded mattress.

"Erik!" Ayesha was at her master's side in a heartbeat, concern written all over her pointed little face. "Oh please, he's not…"

"No." Nadir said, giving Ayesha a calming stroke between the ears. "He's still alive, but he has to be treated. I have a medical kit in my apartments, but I have to get it. Christine, can you get his shirt off by the time I get back?" I was grateful for the darkness that hid my blush and my small "eep" of embarrassment, but I only nodded. This was no time to be coy or modest. For a moment, I had expected to see Ayesha glaring daggers and fire at me, but the cat only remained close to her sleeping master, rubbing her face against Erik's own masked cheek and muttering something I could not understand. "Good. I will return shortly."

When Nadir had left the room, I took a deep breath, sealed myself against my embarrassment and any thoughts that defied the actions of a Catholic girl, and did my best to start removing the tattered and bloodstained robes from Erik's torso. To say it took some effort was an understatement; trying to move the arms of an unconscious man through the sleeves of his shirts was hardly an easy task, especially when he kept shifting and moving away in the discomfort I was sure I was causing him. Ayesha made no move to protest my actions, which I was secretly grateful for. The last thing I needed was a cat harassing me about stripping her master down from the waist-up. A blush already burned at my face the entire time.

When the last of the robes were removed and Erik lie on the bed, now naked from the waist-up, I took a moment to study his form. I had known Erik was skinny, but I had never anticipated what I saw before me. It was more than just Erik's face that resembled death, it was his entire being. In the weak light of the room I could see every ridge of his ribs, the shadows that clung to his sunken stomach, the sinewy muscles that made up his gaunt arms. It was a sight that would have made most men cringe away in disgust and women faint, but I felt no trace of repulsion as I looked down at him. True, Erik was no Greek god, but he still possessed an unearthly sort of beauty of his own; something that was so different, so unconventional to what the idea of what beauty should be it would not pass as beauty at all unless one knew how to look for it.

I did, however, wince when I saw the gash-like wounds on his chest and arms. None of them were too terribly deep, thank God, but they were still bleeding sluggishly, and serious enough to require stitches; even I could tell that much. The creatures that had attacked him had inflicted their share of claw-like marks, and they had torn through Erik's thin skin like paper. Had Nadir and I been any later, they would have had no problem tearing him to shreds. But there was something else marring his skin, too, something hidden just below the blood. It was hard to tell in this light, but I could barely make out the crisscross of thin lines all over his torso; some thin, some as thick as my finger, rising as jagged lines of skin…

I hated seeing him like this. He looked so small, so vulnerable. Gone was the strong, confident Erik I had known when I first met him, the dark and mysterious being who taught me to sing again, the raging storm that bared down upon me not more than an hour ago. Yes, his face was horrible – nightmarish, really – but it no longer mattered to me, nor did I care. It was that same mortal flaw that drew me closer to him, making me want to protect him from the world all the more.

Erik groaned in his sleep, turning his head to one side as his wings twitched feebly underneath him. For a moment I contemplated turning him over onto his side. Lying on top of the huge appendages had to be terribly uncomfortable.

"He has a fever." Ayesha whispered, from where she was still curled up at the crook of his neck. She said nothing more, but I could almost hear her unspoken thoughts, _don't just sit there and stare, stupid girl! Do something to help him! _

I rose from the bed, not knowing exactly what I was searching for, but hoping to find something, anything, that I could use to help Erik until Nadir returned with the medical kit. Thankfully, I found a jug of water untouched in the destruction of the room, and with much needed effort, was able to drag it back to the bed. Tearing off strips of cloth from the sheets that had been thrown from the bed, I soaked them in the cool water, then reached to remove Erik's mask before stopping myself. The idea of seeing his face again was not what stopped me; in fact, I thought that it might have been better to look at him while he was asleep, when he was relaxed and calm rather than raging at me. Everyone looked far more peaceful and innocent in sleep.

But what if he woke up? How would he react if he knew that I had taken the mask off again? The last thing I needed was for him to go into another fit, as weak as he already was. Still, I could not help but feel guilty as I lifted his mask just enough to set it slightly lower on his face, still keeping him covered but revealing enough of his brow to set the wet cloth down onto his burning skin.

Or bone.

But that wasn't something I needed to be thinking about.

Once again, I expected some harsh reprisal from Ayesha, accusing me of still being too afraid to see his face, but she seemed satisfied enough that I was at least making an attempt to help with the fever. She curled back into a ball next to Erik, further wedging herself between his neck and shoulder.

While waiting for Nadir, I took another strip of cloth, wet it, and made an attempt to clean away some of the blood that stained Erik's chest. He hissed his discomfort through his teeth as I did this, but still did not wake up.

In the darkness and silence of the chamber, I finally let my defenses fall just enough to allow a tear or two to creep down my face as horrible memories came flooding back to me. Memories of staying by my father's side, just like this, doing my best to help return his health back to him, praying my hardest that God would assist me, but still unable to prevent his life from slipping away between my fingers. I had learned a hard lesson the day when my father's life was finally extinguished. Love might have been the strongest force known to man, the most powerful magic given to us by God, but even then it sometimes isn't strong enough to prevent the inevitable. I was so lost in life when my father died. Food no longer had any taste, and all colors had gone bland and lifeless. Even music became a dull dirge to my ears. Erik had given it all back to me. What was I to do if he died as well…?

A small sob choked in my throat as I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to the clammy skin of Erik's bare shoulder. "Please don't leave me, Erik. Please…"

A gentle hand on my shoulder persuaded me to raise my head, leading me to look into Nadir Kahn's jade-green eyes. There was a look of genuine concern in their depths, and a sick shadow of worry for the man lying unconscious on the bed before us. "How is he?" The Daroga asked me softly.

I shook my head, my curly locks of hair falling limply in my face. "Fever," I croaked out in a broken whisper. It was all I could manage to say.

Nadir's frown deepened as he knelt next to me, lifting Erik's mask just enough to place a hand on his forehead. "Then we don't have much time." Setting down a tin box in between us, Nadir unlatched the lid and opened it, revealing a collection of simple instruments that appeared to have been arranged for an occasion just as this. First he took out a small bottle that contained a sour-smelling, cream-colored liquid that he applied to all the visible cuts and gashes on Erik's torso and arms; something that I assumed was to prevent the risk of infection, which in itself could be deadly if the fever didn't finish him off first.

At one point I had to pull Ayesha away from her master. When I had expected her to fight, she came willingly, resting in my arms as we both continued to watch Nadir tend Erik's wounds. When the last of the salve had been applied, Nadir drew from the box a slim, curved needle, and a spool of wiry thread. My stomach gave an uneasy lurch as I could easily guess what exactly the thread and needle would be used for.

Seeming to sense my discomfort, Nadir turned to me before starting on the impending task at hand. "I understand if you do not want to watch, Christine. I can do this on my own." I did not need a second invitation. I only nodded numbly before turning away, taking Ayesha with me, to sit near the ruined piano as Nadir set to work on his grim task. Every now and then, I would hear Erik's groan of pain through his sleep, and I would have to hum one song or another to myself, trying desperately to purge my thoughts of the needle and thread sewing Erik's ravaged flesh back together as though it were merely cotton cloth.

Sometime later – whether it were mere minutes, or many hours, I was not sure – Nadir finished tending to the worst of Erik's wounds, and when I returned to the bed, the Persian had covered them with thick bandages, sparing my eyes from the sight of Erik stitched up like a child's rag doll. Erik was know laying on his side, his wings tucked behind him, which was no doubt far more comfortable for him than sleeping on his back. "Will he be alright?" I asked quietly as Ayesha jumped from my arms, resuming her proper place at her master's side.

"As long as the infection is kept at bay, he should make a full recovery. Erik's survived far worse. The rivalry between him and the Grand Vizier is hardly anything new; the Vizier's been after Erik's blood since the shah first had me bring him here."

I looked away from Erik, towards the darker-skinned man. "You brought Erik here?"

Nadir nodded. "Yes. From Russia. The shah first heard of Erik from a fur trader, and he was so intrigued by the stories, he sent me to bring him back here. At first, he only needed Erik as a new toy to keep his mother entertained, and I was sent to Russia to persuade him by any means necessary to return to Mazanderan with me. It was hardly an easy task, mind you, and at the time, Erik scared the living devil out of me. I still thank Allah for delivering us back to Mazanderan in one piece.

"Erik…was not easy to get along with when he first came to Persia. I was certain that his pride would have him killed by dusk his first night here. But the khanum was so fascinated by his cunning and mystery, and the shah so impressed by his genius, that he quickly became the most favored person within these walls. Never before had a foreigner been admitted to royal counsels as not only a witness at first, but then part of the counsel to the shah.

Of course, this sent the Grand Vizier, in his forty years of service to the Persian court, into a rage. He was after Erik's demise from the first day he arrived. He has tried to kill Erik before, but only in subtle ways; blackmail, poison in his wine, but every time, Erik managed to evade him. I have no doubts that those creatures were sent by the Vizier after today's counsel, and I can only imagine what state he'll be in when he's learned Erik has survived yet again. I hate to say this, Christine, but from now on, it will probably be a good idea to keep as much distance between yourself and Erik as possible. Next time, you could be caught in his vengeance…or, he could even find a way to use you against Erik if he ever discovers your tie to one another."

I shook my head violently, as though I was trying to swat away his words as though they were flies. "I'm not leaving him."

"Christine, please don't argue. If the Grand Vizier – or worse, the khanum herself – learns of the relationship between the two of you, I can't even imagine what lengths they will go through to tear you apart. What if the Vizier uses you in his next ploy to destroy Erik? Erik would do anything to protect you from harm, even if it means submitting to the Vizier without a fight…"

"But he doesn't know yet, does he? If he doesn't know, then why would that prevent me from being here, right now, for him?" I looked back at Erik, my heart twisting in my chest as I looked at his sleeping, vulnerable form. He looked so much like a child as he slept, exhausted from being put through an ordeal that was even beyond him… "I promised him I would stay with him. I promised I wouldn't leave. I'm going to keep that promise, until I breathe my last breath."

A small smile appeared on Nadir's face, the first I felt I had seen in a long time. "You're one of Allah's miracles, Christine Daaé. I refuse to believe that you two were brought together by mere coincidence. Erik would often ask himself…ask me…of what the purpose of living in this world was. I would hope that he found that purpose in you, Christine." He sighed then, standing up and closing the lid of the tin medicine box. "You should return to your apartments before your family becomes suspicious of your absence. I will watch over him tonight."

"No… No, I want to stay here with him. In case he wakes up. So he knows that I'm still here."

"Very well. I won't argue further with you. Just be warned that when changelings dream, what they see if not limited to just their own minds."

I knew this; it was another reason why changelings were considered such bad luck for so long. When changelings dreamt, it was not uncommon for others to see the same images in their own dreams. I knew that by staying close to Erik while he slept, I was subjecting myself to whatever he saw in his slumbering state.

If Erik's nightmares were anything like his reality, then I was in for a rough night, but even that still wasn't enough to scare me away.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me as all the events of the night finally took their toll on my body and mind. With a huge yawn, I settled myself at the foot of Erik's bed, entwining my fingers with his own long, skeletal ones. His hands tightened around mine in his sleep, and I smiled softly before the darkness finally claimed me.

-

_Christine was dreaming. She had to be._

_And yet, the dream was not her own._

_She was standing in a handsome parlor room, with a magnificent oak table set for some impending special event. The china and silver, finer than that she had ever seen before, were set out for three places. But the whole room – no, the whole house – had an empty, cold, loveless feeling to it; a house that was not a home. _

_The door to the kitchen slammed open, and a woman came storming out carrying a pot of soup, which she set down on the table with a bang. She was a pretty woman – beautiful really – with long, thick dark hair and a face men would have gone to battle for. Well, she would have been beautiful, had it not been for most miserable of expressions Christine had ever seen on her perfect features. It was almost as if she were facing her own execution rather than what ever other event was about to take place here…_

"_Mama?"_

_A small, timid voice from behind me caused the woman to stiffen, and her melancholy expression turned to one of malice and exasperation – in response to a child's voice? What could have inspired such a change, and from a child, no doubt? Christine turned around to look at the child that had appeared from behind, whom the voice was coming from…_

_A small boy, no older than five, with flyaway brown hair, and his tiny face hidden behind a crude burlap mask…_

"_Erik…"_

_Christine's heart warmed at the sight of her beloved magician as no more than a small child, but he did not hear her. In fact, neither mother nor child seemed to be aware of her presence at all. It was as though she simply did not exist to them, and was an invisible ghost looking through a window of time._

So she's Erik mother...

_Christine could tell just by looking at the young beauty that she was once a radiant maiden who appeared to have aged a great deal in a short period of time. Christine remembered the spite and anger in Erik's voice the one and only time she had asked about his mother, and guessing by the look on the woman's face when he appeared in room… _What could have possible happened between them to breed such ill feelings between mother and son?

"_What is it?" Erik's mother asked shortly, fussing with the settings on the tables in a useless attempt to distract her attention away from the child before her._

_Little Erik shifted from one foot to the other, looking down at the floor before him. He was so small, and so obviously terrified of what he was about to ask that Christine felt the overwhelming urge to take him into her arms and kiss all his fears away._

_"Since…since it is my birthday…does that mean you'll be giving me a present too?"_

_The woman sighed, now fiddling with the flower arrangement at the center of the table. "I suppose."_

"_Anything I want?"_

"_Within reason." His mother's voice was growing ever tenser, already fearing her son's unasked request._

"_May I have two of them?"_

_His mother snorted in a very un-ladylike manner. "Why would you need two?"_

"_So I can use the second one when the first one's used up."_

"_It depends on what you ask for. What is it?"_

_Little Erik fell silent as he took a napkin from the table, twisting it around his small, thin fingers, which were still unnaturally long, even in his youth._

"_Well?" his mother demanded, her voice growing harsher with every word, and with each passing moment, Christine found herself disliking the woman more and more. How she would have given anything to rush into that room where she could be seen, wrapping Erik in her embrace and save his fragile child's heart from a woman who so obviously showed no love for her own flesh and blood... "What is it? If you don't tell me what it is right away, you will not have anything at all!"_

"_I want…I want…" Erik stammered, mustering up all the courage he possessed in his tiny body to say his most hidden desire. Finally, he took a deep breath, looked his mother straight in the face through those two crude holes in his mask, and said: "I want a kiss. One for now, and one for later."_

_To Christine's horrific astonishment, the woman suddenly collapsed against the table in a sobbing mess, shrinking away from her son as though what he had asked her to commit was the greatest sin against God. "You must not ask that." She gasped in between her sobs. "You must never, never ask that again…do you understand me, Erik…never!"_

"_But why?" Erik pleaded, now looking very near tears himself in his state of baffled confusion. "Why can I never ask that? Why are you crying? Why are you crying, Mama?"_

"_Never again!"_

_Dream or not, Christine would have given anything to go to Erik then, to throw her arms around him, and hold him close, to yell and berate his mother in the cruelest of means possible for denying her son something as simple and innocent as a kiss, for recoiling away from him as though he were a monster…_

_In the rage she felt, even in her dream state, Christine had forgotten why it was Erik's mother would have refused him in the first place… Forgot all about that tiny, child's death-face that lay hidden behind the mask…_

_The dining room darkened and melted before her eyes, and suddenly Christine was in another time, another place as one more of Erik's forbidden memories became revealed to her. Instead of being in a comfortable, regal-looking home, she was standing the middle of a dirty, dingy street in some unnamed town or village, the road lined with brightly painted wagons as willowy, olive-skinned men and woman moved about, wearing clothes composed of patches of bright, gaudy colors…_

_Gypsies! She was in a gypsy camp! But why in the world would Erik have even been here…_

_The gypsies were putting on a carnival of sorts, as they often did when they were present in a town such as this. There were jugglers, contortionists, fortune-tellers, all moving with a slow, unnatural grace, as though the whole scene were taken place underwater, lit by the eerie yellow glow of oily lamps…_

_At the center of the attraction was a cage, large enough to easily hold a man in its cold, unfeeling confinements._

_A sense of black foreboding washed through her._

_A huge man stepped before an anxiously awaiting crowd, his paunchy, dirty face twisted into a cruel and malicious sneer._

"_Come…" the man growled to the crowd, his husky purr drawing them closer. "Come, and view if you dare, the living corpse…"_

_The bottom dropped out of her stomach as Christine knew of the only person he could have been talking about. Slowly, as though she were fighting against an invisible force that was attempting to hold her back, Christine made her way through the dense crowds, pushing her way past the tightly-packed bodies although, like when she was in the dining room of Erik's mother's home, no one seemed to notice she was there._

_The closer she drew to the cage, the louder the gasps of astonishment became, the more terrified the shrieks of the women, the jeers and taunts becoming crueler with each step…_

_Finally, she was before the bars, looking into the filthy space covered in no more than old, moth-eaten burlap sacks. Bound to the bars on the opposite side, forced into a spread-eagle form, like Christ on the cross, was a young boy, no older than ten, his head being held up by a course rope around his neck so the full horror of his face could be revealed to the crowd who had paid to see him._

_Tears coursed down Christine's face like deadly acid before she realized that she had been crying at the sight of him. "Erik…" She reached for him through the bars, but her attempt was all in vain. Never before had he seemed so far away, so unreachable, and she was helpless to do anything but listen to the taunting crowd, unable to protect him, unable to shield him from the shadows of his past…_

_The scene changed again, this time throwing her forward so violently it was as though she had been tosses there by a giant, invisible hand. The dirty street, the gypsy carnival, the cage with its bound attraction had all vanished. Now she stood in a small, elegant terrace garden. It was nighttime, but the air was warm, and the sky clear above her. Compared to the filth of the gypsy carnival, a sense of peace washed through her. Then she heard voices, and she turned to see two people standing behind her, both cloaked in the shadows of the night. One was the full figure of a young woman, perhaps about as old as Christine was. The other was the tall, awkward form of a young man who had seemed to have grown too fast for his body to keep up with. In the light of the pale quarter moon, Christine could clearly see the cold gleam of a white mask on his face…_

"_I want you to take off the mask. _Please_ take off the mask, Erik." The girl pleaded. Christine's breath caught in her throat. This could only be one person._

Luciana…

_When Erik spoke, in a voice that sounded much younger than Christine knew now, it was flat, yet there was an undeniable desperate edge to it. "You'll have to excuse me, Mademoiselle, but I have work to finish."_

_Luciana stamped a foot on the cobblestone, her dark ringlets of hair bouncing on her shoulders. "You do _not_ have work to finish!"_ _she snapped at him, the former patience in her voice gone as though it had never been there to begin with. I want you to take off your mask; do you hear me, Erik? Take it off right now!"_

"_You want to see?" Erik snarled, rounding on the girl before him. "Do you want to see so badly, Luciana? Look then!" And he tore the mask from his face._

_If Christine had thought that the reaction Erik's mother had to his birthday request was horrible, it was nothing compared to Luciana when she was confronted with his true face. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream as her arms flew up around her face, as though she was being confronted by the devil himself. Then she ran. She ran from him, running from the truth that she had demanded from him, and Christine was unable to do anything but watch in silent horror as the uncompleted stone masonry under her feet began to crumble and give way. Christine wasn't even able to scream herself as the young girl fell through a cloud of dust, the rain of rubble, her head coming to hard, halting contact of the stone courtyard below…_

_From where he remained standing on the rooftop garden, Erik hid his face behind his hands before letting loose a chilling scream, his wings ripping from his back, the feathers dripping with something that looked horribly like blood… _

_Christine was given no time to act, no time to reflect, before she was thrown into a violent cyclone of fragmented memories, coming at her so fast that she felt dizzy and sick. She closed her eyes, trying to block them out, but Erik's memories were inside her mind, inside her soul… She saw everything…_

_Erik's mother holding him before a mirror, forcing him to look onto his own reflection for the first time in his life…_

_Erik carrying the body of a dead dog back into his home as blood blossomed under his shirt…_

_Erik making the lilies beside the small coffin in his cage sing to an audience…_

_Erik standing over the body of the fat gypsy who put him on display, a bloodied knife in his skeletal hands…_

_Erik watching with attentive eagerness to an old man with a kind face as he taught the masked boy the finer parts of architecture…_

_Erik with a thin piece of string that wound its way around a man's throat, allowing him to snap his neck like a twig…_

_Over and over, the snap of the lasso, the snap of the neck, and another man fell down dead…_

"_Stop it…" Christine whispered, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes._

_Another man dead, eyes wide and staring._

"_Stop it…" Christine said, a little louder, clapping her hands over her ears as the delighted, morbid laugh of the khanum filled her head._

"_Stop it, Erik! Please stop! No more!"_

_And there suddenly wasn't anymore._

_The dream of Erik's dark memories suddenly became dark, still, quiet as the grave. There were no more images, no more dead bodies, and no more laughter. Only the unending darkness, and the small, almost non-existent sound of a child crying…_

_Christine slowly opened her eyes, uncovered her ears, and saw before her the heartbreaking image of a small child, no older than five, crying before her._

_Heart weeping, Christine slowly approached Erik's child self. At first, she thought that he would not be able to see her, that she was just as invisible as she was in the memories, but she still knelt before him, coming face-to-face with the small boy. He was so sad, so afraid, so utterly alone…_

_Slowly, Christine reached out one shaking hand to touch his soft hair, relieved when she could feel the downy locks under her fingers._

"_Erik…"_

_Sniffing, he looked up at her, his golden eyes, still so luminous even in his youth, swimming with tears. He was not wearing his mask, and although his face was still shocking – the pulse of the blue veins under paper-thin skin, the bone on his forehead, the lack of his small nose – she felt nothing but compassion and love for him. It seemed impossible to her that anyone else could have hated him, feared him, felt disgusted by him…_

"_Why?" he asked me, his voice small through his tears. "Why does everyone hate me? Is it because of my face?"_

"_Oh…oh Erik…" Gently, she brushed her thumbs across his cheeks, brushing his tears away. "Of course not. No one hates you. They just…don't understand. And most people don't like what they don't understand. But that doesn't mean they hate you."_

_A fresh wave of tears coursed down his sunken cheeks, and he tried to hide his face behind his small hands. "It's not my fault…it's not my fault…"_

"_Of course it isn't." Christine whispered, kissing his forehead before pulling him into a protective embrace. "Of course you it's not your fault what you look like. But I promise you, Erik, it will all change someday. You're such a special person. Someday, you'll have the world at your feet."_

"_Please don't hate me…"_

_His sudden request took her by surprise. Christine looked down at the small body in her arms, curled tightly against her as though he had never been held before him his life. Are far as she knew, he hadn't. "I could never hate you Erik."_

"_I hate being like this." He said, his voice muffled in the fabric of my dress. "Please don't hate me."_

"_Never." Christine whispered, tears now falling from her eyes and into his hair._

_Suddenly Erik was no longer a child, but now the full-grown man she had always known, still huddled against her, his face still hidden in the fabric of the bosom on her dress. His arms were around her, holding her to him as he trembled, clinging to her as though she were his lifeline…_

"_Please…" he pleaded softly. "Please tell me everything's going to be all right… I need to hear it from you. Just once, even if it's a lie."_

_Christine held him closer, tangling her hands in his long hair. "Everything will be all right, Erik. I promise. And I promise I'll never, ever leave you."_

--

I awoke with tears on my face. When I sat up and looked back down at Erik's still sleeping form, I noticed that our fingers were still entwined together. He seemed calmer now, and the fever that had been raging only hours ago had already subsided.

In that short amount of time I had been asleep, that I had been subjected to Erik's memories, I had learned more about him than I did since I first met him, so many months back. They were horrible memories, dark secrets, and past experiences that would have driven away the weak-minded and spirited.

I never loved him more than I did at that instant.

Slowly, gently, I lowered his mask from his face, just enough to expose his forehead once again before leaning forward and kissing him gently on the exposed bone. It was warm under my lips and damp from sweat, but I felt no revulsion. In fact, I wanted nothing more than to remove the mask completely and kiss each feature that had driven so many people away from him.

Unlike Erik's mother, he could have a kiss from me anytime he wanted.

**Author's Note:** I want to do individual reviewer's response, but…there are just so many of you anymore! Besides, I'm sure you would want this chapter up ASAP…but if you have any questions, I'll be more than happy to answer them! I'm just sorry I don't have time to get to them now. I'm sorry (cries). So, a big, cuddly group hug for all your kind words and encouragement! I love you all!

The final scene in the dream sequence was inspired by one of my favorite scenes in the manga Fruits Basket by Natsuki Takaya. Most rest of Erik's memories are copyright of Susan Kay and her wonderful novel.


	13. Interlude Four: Hearts in Darkness

**Author's Note:** Hello again lovelies! Thanks for returning once more!

This will perhaps be the last interlude as of now, and while it might seem a bit repetitive, but it's still rather important, and I'm sure some of you will appreciate the fluff incorporated within. Thanks for your patience! And, as always, a thousand humble thanks to my beta, OritPetra.

**Interlude Four**

**Hearts in the Darkness**

When Erik awoke, it was still night.

Or it was very, very early in the morning. He really wasn't sure.

What he was certain of was that he ached, terribly so, all over his body. It felt as though he had been attacked by a hoard of demons, each one hell-bent on tearing him to shreds…

_Oh wait_, Erik thought with a wince. _I was._

The attack had come out of nowhere, and without the scantest warning. He had been in a slightly better mood that day after he was allowed to take out some of his pent-up frustration on the Vizier – frustration that had been festering inside his chest since that night with Christine and the torture chamber – but he had been too arrogant, too over confident that the Grand Vizier would not retaliate after Erik had so openly insulted him before the shah. It was that error that almost cost him his life, which almost left him torn limb from limb from the summoned demons the Vizier had sent to him. If Erik was going to die anytime soon, it would certainly _not_ have been in little pieces all over his apartment floor, but even he could not deny that he had been in a tough situation. There had been too many of them, and he had been loosing the battle…

Until the door of his chambers burst open and that fool Daroga entered, with Christine, of all people, at his heels!

The creatures had disappeared almost immediately after they arrived, but the nightmare was not over. Erik's mask had been torn from his face from the fight, destroyed beyond repair, and before Nadir could prevent it, she had seen…

Oh, God, she had seen his face…

It was as if he was watching his actions from outside his body, watching a scene that was happening in slow motion… Watching himself hold Christine by her slender neck, drawing blood onto her pale, flawless skin, ignoring the voice in the back of his head screaming at him to stop, that he was hurting her, hurting his angel… But he had been too blinded by grief, by pain to listen. Watching himself scream at her, forcing her to look into his unmasked face, to confront her own nightmares.

He was going to loose her anyway… She would leave…

She would leave him. Just like everyone else. Well, so be it. If he was going to loose her, he would make it hurt so much, he would break her heart so badly that she wouldn't feel sorry for him anymore. She would never have to regret leaving him to his own darkness, and a life where he would always be cold, and alone…

Then he watched, as if through eyes that were not his own, as she didn't run…she's didn't scream… She only pressed her face into his hand, and her sweet lips against his skin, letting her tears fall like the waters of a healing spring…

"_I'm sorry."_ She had said.

She was sorry…sorry for what? Sorry for everything he was…everything he wasn't? Sorry that she had at last seen him, seen his true self, his true form? Was she sorry in advance for when she would leave him without so much as a second glance back, or regret in her pure heart?

It had been too much… It was all too much…

Erik ran. Badly injured, bleeding, and half-mad with rage and pain, he ran from her first, away from those dark eyes swimming with tears that only pitied him and his pathetic life.

He had wanted to die… More than when he was in the gypsy's cage, he wanted to die. He desperately wished that the God that he had forsaken long ago would show some compassion and cut off his life like a severed wire, merciful and quick.

Exhausted from his battle and loosing strength with each passing moment, Erik had crashed into the furthest corner of the shah's palace, in some remote, unnamed garden where he could die in peace, waiting for his heart to beat itself to pieces. The pain in his body was nothing compared to the pain in his heart and soul. Each thought of Christine, each memory of her would slice through him like a thousand dull razors, ripping and tearing him to shreds from the inside out.

Ayesha had been right, although Erik was still too proud to ever admit it aloud, even as he lay broken and alone in the forgotten garden. He had fallen in too deep with the girl, loosing his head and heart to her before he had even realized it had happened, and by the time he did become aware of his blunder, it was too late to turn back. He had hoped, like a single candle burning in the blackest abyss of the earth, that Christine could have been different, that she was not another Luciana, that she would not run from him, never emitting so much of a scream as she fell…

That small hope had been shattered the moment she had seen him… When he held her hard enough to make her bleed, forcing her to look into his hellish face, the blood and magic in his veins pulsing in a mad cadence that only he could hear, drowning out all other noise and logic, she was already lost to him.

Christine would leave him. There was nothing worth living for anymore…

And then, suddenly, she was back, like an angel emerging from the mists of purgatory, her hair badly disheveled and her doll-like face flushed with tears. What was she doing there? What in the world did she possibly have to say to him? Had she come to apologize for leaving, for being so terrified of him?

Erik no longer had the strength to even push himself into a sitting position as she drew closer to him. Instead, he only managed to yell at her, to say horrible things to her that would drive her further away. The changeling's curse had completely taken its course by now; he could feel the throb of the raging magic in his blood and in his head. He could only imagine what he must have looked like… Yet why wasn't she running away?

"Leave me, Christine. Leave me to my own loathsome existence…"

But she didn't leave. Instead, she did quite the unexpected by latching herself to his arm, holding onto him as though she were afraid he would disappear from under her. He no longer had the strength to even shake her off, and as the world became dark and dim around him, he could hear her voice, her beautiful angel's voice begging him to come back with her; telling him that what he looked like did not matter.

Then she said… She said…

No. He dared not believe it. He knew by now that Christine had as much cruelty in her nature as a sunflower, but he could still not bring himself to believe any truth in her words.

Her arms moved from his arm to around his neck as Christine cradled him against her as though he were a child, as though he were a normal man. The last thing he heard before the darkness claimed him was her voice, singing to him, and only for him…

A dream too sweet to be believed…

_Erik was dreaming._

_Or, more specifically, remembering. He dreamt often of his past, being forced to relive his darkest hours again and again in his unconscious mind. Not even sleep harbored sanctuary from the real-life nightmares of his past: of his mother denying him his birthday wish, of the fat gypsy who had locked him in a cage, of Luciana falling to her death, over and over again…_

_He was a child again, alone, lost, and confused in a world he did not understand; a world that refused to understand and accept him for who he was, but instead, judged him solely on how he looked. Only this time…_

_This time, he wasn't alone. There was someone else in the dream with him…_

_His angel was back. She knelt before him, gently wiping his tears away, trying to comfort him with her words and her soft touches, assuring him that he wasn't hated. Assuring him that she would never hate him…_

"_Please…" he had said, his voice in his dream detached from himself, as though someone else were speaking the words for him. "Please tell me everything's going to be all right. I need to hear it from you. Just once. Even if it's a lie…"_

_And she did._

-

Erik was lying on his side when he awoke, his wings tucked behind him. At first, there were no thoughts of the risk he had put himself into by going out into the palace with his wings exposed. Or, even worse, the risk of some hapless servant coming upon him when the changeling's curse was in full effect. He did not know exactly what happened after Christine had found him, or how he got back to his own chambers.

All he knew was that he just _hurt_ – hurtall over. Christ, even his feathers hurt. Groaning, Erik pushed himself into a sitting position, readjusting his wings, wincing as the joints and muscles burned with every moment. His head spun, and it felt as though his stomach had been turned inside out. He had almost forgotten how miserable one felt after living through a near-death experience.

_It's times like this I think that perhaps I would be better off if I had just died._ He thought with a morbid smirk to himself. _At least I wouldn't feel as though I'd been dragged by a train from France to Germany and back._

"Erik?" Erik felt a small surge of relief when Ayesha crawled into his lap, rubbing her head against his bandaged shoulder, purring so hard that he could feel it through his whole body. "Oh, Erik…thank God you're alright…"

"Ayesha, my dear…" Erik said affectionately, drawing her into his arms and burying his masked face against her fur. In the chaos of the attack, he had been unable to make sure Ayesha was alright, and was only able to dimly hope that she had taken shelter as he did his best to fight off the majority of the creatures that had been attacking him from all sides. She seemed unhurt as he held her. Thank God for small miracles. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"

"They would have… but Christine stopped them."

_Christine_. At the mention of her name Erik's stomach gave another uncomfortable heave. Where was she? Had she already left? She had promised she would stay… But, then again, she probably would have said anything, as long as it would…

"She hasn't left your side all night." Ayesha said quietly, still hiding her small face against her master's shoulder.

Erik looked towards the edge of the bed, and his heart skipped a beat when she saw the girl, her hair badly disheveled, sleeping at the foot of his ruined bed.

"_Everything will be alright, Erik. And I promise I'll never, ever leave you."_

Erik stared at Christine's slumbering form, dumbfounded. It had only been a dream…just subconscious, wishful thinking that the one person that he ever held dear to him would _actually_ stay… But she was here! And that meant she had seen his dreams, his memories, the darkness of his past that made him the monster he was today… And still she stayed. She had seen him…and she was still here. She was not dead. She was alive, asleep and peaceful, right beside him.

"You were right." Ayesha continued, pulling away from Erik and returning to curl up into a warm ball at his side. "She isn't like Luciana. She has a good soul."

"And you've known all along." It was a statement, not a question.

"Of course I did. I just didn't want to loose you to anyone else."

Erik smiled weakly, bending over to press his masked face to her soft fur again. "No one will ever take me away, Ayesha."

"Erik?" A second voice said, whispering his name. Now Christine was awake, the sleep immediately leaving her large dark eyes, turning into the purest relief when he turned his own golden gaze onto her. Christine climbed onto the bed, reaching out to grasp either side of his masked face, fawning over him like a mother hen. "Oh, Erik… Are you alright? Do you hurt anywhere? Are you thirsty? Do I need to get you anything? Do you need…"

"Christine! Christine, calm down!" Erik reached up to take hold of her wrists, drawing her hands away from his face and pulling away from her with the same bewildered look in his eyes as a frightened puppy. "Just…slow down. Tell me…tell me what happened, after you came to the garden."

Christine told him. Word by shaking word, she started when Nadir found them in the garden just after the curse lost its full strength and he lost consciousness. She told him about when she and the Daroga struggled to return Erik back to his room before anyone found him, and how Nadir had to tend to his wounds before fever and infection could take their ominous toll on him. Then she had fallen asleep beside him, waiting to see if he would really be all right or not…

"And the dream?" Erik said quietly. He had not looked at her once during the entire time she had been talking, but rather looking away in shame. "You saw the dream?"

"Everything." Christine replied softly.

Silence reigned supreme in the chamber for quite some time, tense and thick, neither of them quite knowing what to say next. The eastern sky began to grow pink and golden with the coming of the Persian dawn before anything was said at all.

"Christine… If you don't want to stay…if you don't want to be here with me, I can't blame you. Knowing what you do now of my face, my past, how much blood covers my hands…" He looked down at his abnormally long hands – the skeletal fingers, and inhuman claws – as though he could see the metaphorical blood as though it were really there. He clenched his hands into tight fists, closing his eyes against the shame and pain. "I won't hold you at fault."

A gentle, warm hand on the side of his masked face slowly coaxed him to open his eyes and look back at the girl. Christine had climbed onto the bed beside him, and was now so close to him he count the tears that clung to her eyelashes…

"I promised." She said.

Before Erik could say another word, Christine was suddenly in his lap, careful to mind his still-sore injuries as she wrapped her thin arms around his bony form, her head coming to rest comfortably against his shoulder. Erik was stunned beyond words, his mouth working for several moments before any sound managed to come out. "Chris—Christine… What…what are you…"

"Please." She whispered, drawing herself tighter against him. "Please, let me stay like this, even if it's only for a few minutes. I have to hear your heartbeat… I have to know you're still here…"

For the first time in his life, words failed him, and Erik was at a complete loss at what to do. A part of his mind urged him to push her away, to not let himself completely succumb to her in fear of possible rejection in the future… But for the first time in his life, Erik's battered heart had the final word, and he awkwardly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. As the minutes ticked by, the stiffness left Erik's limbs and he relaxed beneath her, silently relishing in the heat and full contact of her body. He could feel the rise and fall of her small breasts against his ribs, the warmth of her breath on his collarbone, the sweetness of her tears as they ran down his skin in thin rivulets. He savored each moment of his first embrace -- his first true physical and affectionate contact with any other person, much less a woman -- locking the memory each detail into his mind as though it were to be the last time he ever had the chance to hold this angel from heaven in his arms.

"What about your family?" Erik eventually asked into her hair.

"I don't care anymore." Christine answered against his shoulder.

Those were the last words spoken until close to noon, when Nadir eventually entered the room to check on Erik's condition. Neither had moved an inch before.

**Author's Note2:** I actually don't have a lot to say about this chapter. Erik's so much fun to write. I just don't have the courage to write him from first person POV yet.

Love the fluff! Can you feel it?

The next chapter will have even more fluffy goodness, but not only that, I can promise you a nice, long installment as well. Until next time, ciao dearies!


	14. Chapter Ten: The Garden of Innocence

Author's Note: A belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my lovely readers! I sincerely apologize for the tardiness of the chapter, but the holiday madness kept me and my beta both well occupied. But, I hope the content of the chapter saves me from being mauled too badly. Enjoy! Chapter Ten 

**Midnight in the Garden of Innocence**

I stayed with Erik for two days. While Nadir did the work tending to his injuries – which seemed to heal remarkably fast – I was mostly there for company, never leaving his side, day or not, consequences be damned.

Most of the time was spent speaking of our pasts. It seemed that since I had seen the worst in Erik's dreams, he no longer felt that he had anything to hide, despite remaining ashamed of most of the subject matter touched upon. I could not help but to feel a small spark of satisfaction in knowing that Erik at last trusted me enough to tell me such private secrets – secrets that he kept hidden from everyone else.

The one topic we were careful to avoid was my confession from that night in the garden. As far as I knew, Erik was still in denial that what I said was true, and I was not about to press the matter. One would think that Erik, someone who had never known love in his entire life, would have accepted my love without a question or second thought. Perhaps he did, but after seeing his past in his dreams, and realizing just how fragile he could actually be, I understood now that his heart was like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon after a long and hard winter; weak, delicate, and afraid to move too fast in fear that his new formed wings would be destroyed in the process. I could only hope that in time, he would grow in strength and confidence, and finally accept my love without the fear of being hurt by it in the end.

But come hell or high water, I would fulfill my promise until the bitter end.

Unfortunately, today was not the day that I could completely uphold my promise. After more than two days of neglect, I eventually had to accept that my family was probably in an uproar over my sudden disappearance. I could just see their reactions in my mind. Francine was no doubt worrying herself to the bone, my aunt Celest would be fuming with such rage that you could fry an egg on her head, and Gisele would be lounging in the background, watching, waiting, with a smug sense of the inevitable victory of the punishment I would be dealt when I eventually decided to show back up. So, it was with a heavy heart that I was obligated to leave Erik at the end of my second day with him.

"It might be better if you do not come back here for a while." He told me gently as he saw me to the doors of his apartments. "I can't say what the Grand Vizier might be planning, but whatever it is, the last thing I want is for you to become involved."

"Then when will I…"

"I'll come for you." Erik said before I had the chance to finish my question.

"But…I don't want to leave you."

Erik's eyes softened behind his mask. "I won't be long -- a day perhaps, maybe two, until I have enough of my strength back to handle the Vizier if he tries anything else. With Nadir playing nanny goat, it shouldn't take long." Somewhere behind me, I could hear the Daroga murmur something bitterly in retaliation that Erik just rolled his eyes at. I couldn't help but giggle.

"By the light of the moon. I shall come for you." Erik reached out for my hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing my fingers gently. "Until then, farewell, my angel."

-

How long had it been since I truly felt giddy? I couldn't even remember. But my heart indeed felt lighter than it had been in years, as though there was a swarm of fireflies inside my breast. I felt as though my feet weren't even touching the ground as I made my way back to my own apartments, blissfully unaware of the inevitable that awaited me when I returned.

Sure enough, as soon as I opened the door, my Aunt Celest was there on the other side, her pretty face a furious thunderhead at the sight of me. And, just as I suspected, Gisele was lounging on a chaise in the middle of the room, a triumphant grin on her perfect mouth that only grew wider as my aunt stormed towards me. I stood my ground, never thinking to so much as flinch or draw away, even when she was nearly on top of me; I only set my jaw and prepared myself for the worst.

"And just _where_ have you been, young lady?" Aunt Celest snarled down at me. Her blonde hair, which was normally so immaculate and well kept, was coming out of her tightly coiled bun in awkward, flyaway tendrils. "You disappear for two days, and then think it's alright to just stroll back in whenever you very well please?"

I knew that she would not believe any excuse I gave her, but I didn't have to worry about even thinking of one. Gisele spoke for me. "I believe, mother, that she's been out with the shah's magician. You remember him, right? The one with the mask?"

Aunt Celest rounded on me, her large green eyes wide with fear and bewilderment. "Look me in the eye and tell me that's not true!"

I stared up at my aunt, unblinking, setting my jaw as I prepared for the battle. "I don't see why you would care if I was. It's not as though you have any of your peahen friends here you're trying to impress."

A sharp slap across my cheek was my reward for my sass, before Aunt Celest grabbed me roughly by the arm and dragged me into the chamber. "You wretched little urchin! Had your grandfather not been on his deathbed when he made me promise to watch over your sorry hide, I would have cast you back to the streets where you belong! I keep you under my roof, provide you with food and clothing, and this is the type of thanks I get? You gallivant around with heretics and witches, and then feel that you have the right to sass back at me? Well, we'll just see about that!" She threw me down onto my bed, glaring down at me with hellfire in her eyes. "You are not to leave this room, under any circumstances, until we leave Persia, which will thankfully be within the week. I will decide what to do with you when we return to Paris. With any luck, I'll be able to pack you off to a boarding school. Perhaps they would be able to teach you some of the manners that your father neglected."

I refused to look up at her as she stormed from the room, Gisele following obediently at her heels -- or to give Gisele the satisfaction of seeing the hot tears course down my face. I was not crying because of my aunt's treatment; I had long ago gotten use to it. Ever since my grandfather passed away, she had treated me as though I was no more than a rat that was being kept in a cage, but it was something I had merely accepted and grown accustomed to over the years. No, my tears were a result of the black truth that loomed over me, that I had refused to acknowledge until aunt Celest spoke those dreaded words…

…_Until we leave Persia, which will thankfully be within the week…_

We were at least leaving Persia.

And in that, I would be leaving Erik. I buried my face in my pillow, whispering a soft prayer that I desperately hoped would be carried to his heart…

_Oh, Erik… Please come soon…_

It was a full day and night before I saw Erik again. Most of that time was spent pacing around my apartment like a caged tiger, unable to take so much as a single step outside, rotting from boredom and slowly going insane from Gisele's constant teasing until I eventually fell asleep.

When I awoke again, it was night. The sky was black beyond the tall windows of my chamber, spangled with stars as a nearly full moon took her place in the heavens. Slowly, I sat up on my bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My dress was wrinkled something horrible, and my face felt stiff from the tears I had cried earlier that day. I still felt completely miserable, completely helpless, and so utterly…alone. What I would have given at that moment to be back with Erik, with Nadir, even with Ayesha… Back in the company of people I truly felt I belonged with.

But, it was apparent to me that at least for tonight, I would have to be without them. With a heavy sigh, I rose from my bed, crossing over to the small wardrobe on the opposite side to change into a proper nightgown before returning to sleep.

_I shouldn't be too upset. Erik said it might be a day or two before we can see each other again. _

But the thought brought no comfort to me. A day had seemed entirely too long of a wait. Two days seemed like an eternity. All I wanted was to be with Erik, right now, and never leave his side for as long as I lived…

_Good Lord, is this what being in love does to a person? I guess I still have a lot to learn…_ I thought to myself with a small chuckle, reaching back to unlace my corset.

_Christine…_

A ghostly whisper in the night caused my heart to skip a beat, my fingers freezing in their task. It might have been my imagination, wishful thinking on my part, yet I could not subdue the spark of hope glittering in my heart. He shouldn't have been out of bed -- not yet, he was still far too weak.

Yet maybe… Was it too terrible to wish that just maybe…

_Christine…Christine…_

"Christine…"

I did not have time to stop my smile before it was already on my face. Sure enough, when I turned around, I was far more delighted than I was surprised at the sight of a silhouetted figure crouching in one of the windows, an otherworldly shadow against the majestic night sky.

"You shouldn't be out of bed." I scolded him softly.

Erik chuckled, his voice as clear as church bells. "And Nadir had a devil of a time trying to convince me to do the same, but you spoiled me far too much the past few days. I couldn't stand not being with you."

I couldn't help a quiet laugh of my own. "Erik, it's only been a day."

"Why should it matter?" He asked rhetorically, stepping down from the windowsill and into the room. Somewhere in the darkness, I heard Gisele sigh in her sleep, and the rustle of bedclothes as she shifted. A small wave of cold fear flashed through me.

"Erik…you shouldn't be here. If Gisele wakes up…"

"She won't." He cut me off gently. "I put a spell on her. Nothing serious, I promise you. She'll just sleep until noon tomorrow, that's all. However, I don't plan on staying here all night. There's something I want to show you."

I could not stop the small pang of anxiety course through me. The last time he said those words to me, I had found myself within the presence of that horrid torture chamber, with a vengeful demon in place of my maestro, who was now so gentle and kind to me. However, I refused to let those dark memories get the better of me, and I pushed them forcefully from my mind. "Oh? And what might that be?" I asked playfully.

"You're going to have to wait and see. But first, you're going to need to put this on. It's a great deal lighter than those cumbersome gowns you have to wear. It'll also attract less attention." He pressed a long, thin box into my hand that I had not been aware that he had at all, then turned back into the shadows to let me dress in private. Still feeling somewhat skeptical, I stepped behind a screen, and, trying desperately hard to _not_ acknowledge that Erik was still in the same room as I was, finished removing my heavy cotton gown. I removed the lid from the box that Erik had given me, and in the light of the moon, I could see the glimmer of white silk, and the sparkle of innumerable gold and crystal accents and beads along the fabric. My breath caught in my throat at the beauty of the outfit before me, but as I removed it from its box, I realized, with a sinking heart and heated cheeks, exactly what it was. "Erik! I can't wear this!"

"Oh? Why not?"

"It's…it's…well, it's just not proper!"

"Of course it is. It's quite the normal fashion in Persia."

"But I'm not from _Persia!_ I'm from _Paris!"_

"Oh Christine, please, we don't have much time. It's just for a little while. No one else will see, I promise. Trust me."

_Trust me_. Those two damnable words that destroyed any further protests I could have made on my behalf. But, I did trust Erik, more than anyone else in the world. With a reserved sigh, I began dressing, still feeling horribly awkward as I did so. However, when I finished, I still could not bring myself to step out from behind that screen.

"Are you finished?" Erik asked.

"Yes."

"Come on out, then. We're wasting time."

"I feel like a harlot."

"Well, I can assure you, my dear, you are anything but. Come out, please."

Heart pounding and cheeks flushed with embarrassment, I stepped out from behind the screen. I was clad in nothing more than the women of this country wore; a small silken top that just covered my breasts and shoulders, with billowy, gauzy pants that left my midriff bare for anyone to see. I felt naked, exposed, and wanted nothing more than to grab up the sheets of my bed and use them as a makeshift cloak.

"This is…improper." I murmured. Erik stepped out from the shadows, but before I had the chance to cover myself or hide.

"It suits you. You shouldn't be ashamed." Erik said gently, and there was such sincerity in his voice that I suddenly felt much more at ease with myself. Once more, he reached from my hand, leading me towards the window when I accepted. Without a word, he climbed back onto the open sill, helping me up as though I weighed nothing.

The night was warm, but a cool breeze greeted me from the gardens below, lost in the shadows of the night, but the darkness was not enough to hide just how high above the ground we really were. I swallowed down a lump in my throat, and uneasiness fluttered inside my chest as I instinctively drew closer to Erik as he slowly walked me along the edge of the outside wall of my apartments, along the thin ridge of stone that was only wide enough to put a foot on.

"Come," Erik, said quietly, his voice merely a whisper in the night. "And believe in me. Whoso believes in me shall live. Walk. Whoso hath believed in me shall never die." Erik's wings unfurled slowly behind him, and he drew me closer to him. "Put your arms around my neck, and hold on. It's a little distance away."

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I nodded obediently, wrapping my arms around Erik's neck as he lifted me quite easily into his arms, holding me close to his form. My heart fluttered in my chest. This was a far cry from just a few nights earlier, when I crawled into his lap while his shirt was still off, and yet I could not help but blush at the closeness between our bodies.

"Trust me." He whispered into my ear.

And I did.

Suddenly we were airborne, the world dropping away below our feet as though it had never been there to begin with. My stomach did an odd little somersault at the first sensation, and I clung to Erik with shameless abandon until I reassured myself I was in no harm, allowing myself to relax enough to gaze down onto the palace below me, bathed in the light of the midnight's full moon. Gardens, terraces and towers passed below us, looking to be miles away under our feet, and I suddenly felt free from all earthly cares and restraints. I felt truly _free_, as though there was nothing in the world that could touch me, not when I was in the arms of my angel…

"Hold on." Erik spoke again, and we dropped with a sudden sharpness that made me gasp in surprise, my stomach rising to my throat as we fell with gentle grace to a dark garden below us, completely absent of any light except that of the moon and the stars. It was like any other garden I had seen in the palace, with thin palm trees towering over flower arrangements, interlacing pebble paths that wove around fountains and crystal-clear pools. There was not a sound to be heard except the whisper of the wind through the fronds of ferns that surrounded us on all sides. Erik gently sat me back down on my feet, and I looked up at him with unspoken question.

"We might have to wait for a few moments." He said, and dropped to a seated position on the mossy ground, his wings once more disappearing under the folds on his cloak. He reached up a hand to me, pulling me down beside him once I took it.

"What are we waiting for?" I whispered anxiously, like a child waiting for Christmas to come.

Erik smirked at me. "I can't say. It would ruin the surprise if I did."

I pouted, and he chuckled before we fell back into silence. I listened to the trickle of water somewhere in the distance before drawing my legs up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees before looking back up at Erik. "Erik…why are you here?"

"Hmm?" Erik mused to the darkness. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what keeps you here? What keeps you at the shah and the khanum's beck and call? I saw in your dreams… I saw what she makes you do. The duels, the torture chamber… And I know, in your heart, that's not who you are, and you're not one to let others walk all over you. So, why are you still here?"

For a moment I had expected him to ignore my question, or snap at me to mind my own business, but he did neither. That Erik had disappeared some time ago, and now I could see in his eyes behind the mask as he carefully plotted his answer. "At first, I had come here because what the khanum had to offer sounded so appeasing. Yet, shortly after I arrived, I began to hear rumors that the khanum was a collector of dangerous artifacts, including scrolls of black and powerful magic… And within her collection, the Scroll of Eros. A scroll of beauty, that could turn even the most wretched of creatures into something beautiful, something desired…" He absently reached up and touched his mask. "Something that I could never have on my own. And so, I stayed, even after I had grown tired of the khanum and her half-witted son, trying to figure out a way to obtain the scroll for my own. I do not know where she would keep it, and so I've been waiting, for nearly two years now, for a hint -- a whisper of where it might be -- so I might take it for myself and never look back on this place again."

"But where will you go after this, after you get the scroll?" I asked, leaning my cheek on my knee, never taking my eyes off him. When he remained silent, I softly ventured, "Have you ever thought about coming to Paris?"

Erik looked back at me, an unreadable expression in his eyes, but before he could answer, a soft rustle in the bushes somewhere in front of us caught his attention. Then to my surprise, he smiled. "Here they come. Quiet, now."

I turned to look at the source of the sound, my heart racing. The foliage some ways before us was indeed moving as though something was moving through it, and to my confusion, was softly lit by the subtle glow of white light from an unknown source. The light steadily grew brighter as the unknown creatures drew nearer, then the fronds finally parted to reveal themselves fully to us.

"Oh…" I breathed, my hand coming over my mouth as tears filled my eyes almost immediately.

Standing before us were two unicorns, tossing their heads as they danced and paraded to music that only they could hear, and bathed in an iridescent white light that seemed to be illuminating from their very bodies. These were hardly the white stallion-like animals that I had seen in picture books in my youth, but that did not make them any less beautiful. Their heads were small, pointed and deer-like, set with two deep liquid-blue eyes that wanted to draw me in and lock me away. Their necks were long and thin; their bodies lithe with long, stilt-like legs; and a long tufted tail brushed the ground behind them. It was the long, twisted horn on the top of their heads that truly convinced me that what I was seeing was the real thing, and their silvery, bell-like voice rang in my very soul as they sang to one another.

"Oh…oh, Erik… I didn't think they were… Are they real…?"

"As real as I am now." Erik said quietly. "There is so little innocence in the world anymore, most believed unicorns are long gone. It is only the purest innocence that allows you to see them, my angel."

I fell into emotional silence as I watched the majestic creatures before us. They danced within the secret garden, tossing their heads, rearing onto their hind legs, and singing in a voice that sounded like silver bells and the ocean. I knew I was grinning like a fool as I watched, but I could not make myself care. These creatures were the true embodiment of magic and all that was mystical in the world. Who else other than my maestro would be able to show me such a sight?

Without thinking of my actions, I leaned forward, wanting to be as close to the unicorns as I could, but my hand fell onto an unseen twig on the ground below, and it broke apart with an audible _crack_. Both unicorns froze, their intense gazes falling right onto the spot where Erik and I were watching, their ears perked in complete alert. One of the unicorns snorted, and slowly began to make its way towards us. My joy was suddenly replaced by fear, and all I could think of was what those three foot spiraled horns could do to a person…

"Maybe we should go…" I whispered, backing up against Erik, but his hands on my shoulders held me in place.

"Not yet."

My heart thumped hard behind my ribs as the unicorn came closer and closer to us until it stood right before me, its head lowered towards mine, its horn looming ominously over my shoulder. But as I stared into those cerulean blue eyes, my fear dissipated, and I felt a strange sense of peace and warmth take its place. My body seemed to act on its own as I slowly raised one hand, brining it level to the unicorn's muzzle. Both Erik and I held absolutely still as the unicorn cautiously sniffed my fingers, then to my overwhelming delight, pressed its soft, warm nose into my palm, its breath warm against my skin. Its mate was soon to join it, and soon I had both vying for my attention as they let me stroke their soft, velvety heads and silky manes in turn. And through them I could feel the very heartbeat of the earth, the magic that cascaded through them singing through my fingertips, filling my heart and head with an otherworldly music…

_Like the music I've heard Erik play…_

Then the spell was broken as something unseen caught their attention. Both unicorns became alert once more, and then broke away from us, galloping into the shadows of the garden before disappearing completely.

For several moments, I was unable to move, unable to speak, until the soft sensation of cloth on my skin brought me back to here and now. Erik knelt before me, gently dabbing a handkerchief to my cheeks.

"You're crying." He said simply.

I laughed shakily, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "I'm sorry. I'm not sad, that was just so…so wonderful."

Erik chuckled lightly before helping me to my feet. "I thought you would have liked to see them."

"'Liked?'" I echoed. "Erik, they were the most wonderful things I had ever seen! I can't ever thank you enough!" Before I could stop myself, or Erik had to time to respond, I threw myself into his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck before quite successfully knocking us both dangerously off-balance. With twin cries of surprise, both Erik and I toppled backwards, landing with a very cold and very loud _splash_ in the pool of water behind us.

We both emerged from the crystal waters sputtering and coughing and shivering from the surprising chill of the water, but I still could not help but smile and laugh at my own foolishness. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry." I gasped in between my giggles. "I didn't mean to do that, I swear."

Erik looked far less amused than I was, but when I looked at him, drenched and bewildered and water-grass clinging to his hair, my laugher only grew stronger until my sides hurt. Erik growled, clapping his hands over my ears. "Stop laughing like that!" He said harshly, but there was no true anger in his voice, and it only made me laugh harder.

"I'm sorry." I said again, wiping my streaming eyes. "But if you saw what you look like right now, you'd be laughing too." I took a deep breath, regaining my composure, looking at him with sincerity and a gentle smile. "You should really try laughing sometime, Erik. It's good for your soul."

At first, he only looked at me like I was talking nonsense until a small _croak_ from above caught our attention, and a tiny frog leapt from the top of my head to land in the water between us. I couldn't help a small gasp of alarm – I had never been too terribly fond of frogs – but then I realized that Erik was laughing. It was quiet, and reserved, but it was a start.

"We should probably get out of the water. You'll catch your death in that outfit." He stood up in the pool, reaching a hand down to me to pull me to my feet. We were still knee-deep in the cold water, and despite the fact that we were still both soaking wet and probably caused quite some noise, there was still an otherworldly magic in that forgotten garden that night, especially with the full moon hanging high in the night sky, and the stars glimmering like broken diamonds as far as the eye could see. There was something unknown, unseen in the air that night that took hold of both of us as we faced each other, like that night on the North Tower, and my giddiness gave way to something far deeper, something I could not placed as I looked up at Erik, his mask gleaming in a most unnatural way…

I suddenly found myself loathing that mask with all my being, and with the night's spell still shrouding us in its mystical veil, my hands tentatively moved upwards between Erik and I, my fingers tracing the outer edges of the mask. As soon as he realized that I was doing, he reached up his hands to take hold of my wrists.

"What are you doing, Christine?" Once again, I heard no anger in his voice, but there was definitely a note of fear there that would never fully go away.

"Please," I said quietly. "Let me see you. You know I won't run. I want to see you as you really are."

He continued to look down at me for a moment longer, his golden eyes reflecting a certain degree of sadness in their depths, before releasing my wrists. Holding my breath, I hooked my fingers around the edges of his mask and carefully lifted it away.

No longer did I find his face shocking, even when putting into regard his sunken, skeletal-like cheeks and eyes, his missing nose, or the blue veins under the paper-thin skin. It was almost as though I didn't even notice anymore, as though my heart had learned to fill in the missing pieces. My heart ached for him, knowing what his face had put him through in life, and I wanted nothing more than to take that all back from him, to make his pain go away. Gently, I traced my fingers along the contours of his face, giving him the first true loving touch to his skeletal features that he had been deprived of his whole life. Erik's eyes were tightly shut, as though he was still waiting for the rejection that he had encountered throughout his life.

While his eyes were shut and before he had a chance to pull away, I took advantage of the situation to push myself up to my toes, closing the distance between us and softly pressing my lips to his. The kiss was as chaste as the one on the North Tower, only this time it was longer, and it was intentional. Erik stiffened beneath my hold, but he made no attempt to push me away, or to pull away myself. When I finally broke the kiss, I pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, offering a shy smile. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Erik didn't say anything, and I soon discovered that at that one moment, suspended in the night, he couldn't. He only stared down at me, like a befuddled puppy, before squeezing his eyes shut again and looking away. Before I could ask what was wrong, I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly, and I understood.

Before that moment, I never understood how much something as trifle as a kiss could be so powerful to one who has never had one…

"Oh, Erik…" I whispered, embracing his trembling form, my head coming to rest on his chest as my hands clenched the sodden robes that covered his back. "Erik…"

Before he would take me back to my chambers and we bade each other goodnight until he could come for me again, we simply stood in the pool in the secret garden, holding each other as though tomorrow would be the end of the world, as though that as much as we both wished it, this simply could not last.

And we were only to find out too soon that we were right. For unknown to both Erik and I, one of the spies of the Grand Vizier had been watching us the whole time.


	15. Chapter Eleven: The Promise

**Author's Note:** A million apologizes for the tardiness of this chapter. This one officially marks the half-way point of the story, as well as containing a major turning point in the plot. Also, a million and one thanks to my beta and friend, OritPetra, for finding time in her busy schedule to beta my humble story.

**Chapter Eleven**

**The Promise**

It couldn't have lasted. It had all been far too wonderful to last.

But, as it was with every good dream, I would be doomed to eventually wake up.

Sure enough, when I awoke the morning after Erik had taken me to see the unicorns in the secret garden, I saw that the apartments I shared with Gisele were now a mess of trunks and traveling cases, all with their lids hanging open and spewing forth assortments of clothing and other such provisions. Gisele was already wide awake, and doing what she did best; barking orders at the servants who scrambled about the room, searching for each and every one of her possessions, down to the last hair comb, and packing them within the chests as she ordered them to.

"No, no, no! I told you, the silk dresses go on _top_ of the cotton! I don't care if you can't understand what I'm saying, an imbecile would be able to figure that one out! Christine! Are you awake yet?"

Any good mood that I had been harboring from the night before was immediately forgotten as I rolled over in my bed, pulling the covers up over my head. It had been nearly dawn before Erik returned me to my window. Naturally, I was not ready to get up as of yet, much less have to deal with the bullying of my eldest cousin.

The blankets that had been covering me were suddenly and violently ripped away, and I couldn't stop my cry of protest as I stared up into Gisele's scowling face.

"Up, I said! Mama wants us packed and ready to sail by tomorrow morning! If you think I'm going to do your packing for you, think again!" Then she sneered down at me, her rotten nature raising its ugly head once more. "Or, perhaps you would be doing us a favor by leaving everything behind. At least we wouldn't have to deal with those abominations you call dresses cluttering up our home anymore." Before she gave me a chance to retaliate, she threw the blankets back onto my head before returning to badger the servants once more.

Before we came to Persia, I would have been quick to bite out some retaliation against her, to defend myself with what would eventually end up in a verbal brawl between the two of us, but now there were more important matters at mind. We were leaving Persia tomorrow… Tomorrow? It was not supposed to be that soon! What could have made my uncle change his mind so quickly?

I leapt out of my bed, dashing over to my own traveling trunk, simultaneously wiggling out of my nightgown and into a simple cotton dress, my mind racing at a mile a minute. I was been glad I hadn't been too tired the night before to change out of the white harem outfit and hide it before changing into something a little more proper before I fell asleep. I would have had a world of explaining to do to my aunt as to why I was wearing something so scandalous in the middle of the night if I had made that mistake.

Erik… Erik… I have to see Erik! I have to tell him, I can't let him think I would leave without saying goodbye…

"And where do you think you're going to in such a hurry?" Gisele asked as she stopped giving orders just long enough to watch me dress hastily, one dainty eyebrow raised in suspicion.

I did not give her the dignity of an answer as I pulled on my shoes, pulling my hair back into a haphazard tail with a length of ribbon before dashing out of our chambers, leaving my cousin to call my name aimlessly behind me.

Despite Erik's warnings and the potential danger I was putting myself in, I immediately ran for his chambers, knowing that it would be the one surefire place I could find him. Even if he was not there, as he usually wasn't during the day, at least Ayesha might be able to tell me where I could find him. Nothing else mattered at that time. All I knew was that I had to see him again.

For, who knew how long it would be before I would see him again, once we left the palace and this land behind.

As I turned the last corner before his chambers, I saw that there was already somebody there, standing before the closed doors -- a dark-skinned man wearing a uniform. My heart gave a hopeful leap.

"Nadir!" I called out to him, never breaking my stride until I was standing before him, panting like a winded dog. "Nadir, where's Erik? It's of the most importance that I speak to him…"

My words trailed off as I looked up into Nadir's handsome face. The look of apprehension, of anxiety and fear in his jade-green eyes and on his features were enough to make my blood go cold, and I could almost see him searching for the right words to use before speaking to me. "Nadir? What's wrong?" A bold flood of fear flashed threw me. "Is it Erik? Is he hurt? Did the Vizier get to him?" I gripped his sleeve, desperately, as panic began to set in from his silence. "Please, Nadir, tell me what's wrong!"

"Calm yourself, Miss Daaé." Nadir said, placing one hand on my own. Even through the thin cloth of his glove, I could tell that his hands were cold and clammy. "Erik is fine… At least, I assume that he is. The Grand Vizier has been called out of the Palace today, to take care of a manticore that's been spotted in the forests just east of here. However…" He paused, closing his eyes as though he were wishing that he could be anywhere but here, to say anything but what he needed to say next. "I have been sent here to inform you that you have been summoned to the khanum's chambers. Immediately."

My mind went numb with shock at Nadir's words. "The…the khanum? But why? Why in the world would she need to see me?" It was useless to try to keep the rising panic out of my voice. I was not afraid to admit that I was scared witless.

"I do not know, Christine. All I can assume is that… Someone might have seen the two of you last night, when Erik went to your chambers, and told her what they had seen."

The possibility that someone had seen us seemed impossible to me, but I could not argue with his reasoning. We might have been in a remote garden, but in this land where blackmail and treachery reigned supreme, I should not have been surprised that there were a number of spies within the very walls of the Palace of Mazanderan. And if the Grand Vizier wanted to get back at Erik that badly… Well, then that seemed like the ideal way to go about it.

"What's going to happen to me?" My voice was so small, so pathetic and afraid, but I could not help it otherwise. It took almost all my willpower to keep the tears from coming to my eyes…

Nadir's face softened. "I doubt she would hurt you. She might be a vindictive woman, but she's not a monster. I do not think that she would come to harm the daughter of her son's foreign friend. It would only cause bad blood. However, I do suggest that you do not betray your feelings of Erik to her; it would only give her more power over him. As far as you're concerned, you're still just his student, nothing more. As long as you don't let your fear of her get the better of you, then there's nothing she can do to you, or to Erik. Do you understand me?"

I nodded dumbly, still coldly numb from what I was about to go up against.

Nadir's expression became solemn, his voice betraying no further emotion. "Come, then. It would be unwise to keep her waiting."

I might have well been marching towards my own execution. I could almost feel the shackles around my wrists and ankles, and the heavy chains around my neck. I didn't even have the strength to lift my eyes from the ground as I followed Nadir, straight-backed and silent, towards my impending doom. Nadir had warned me that the khanum was extremely possessive of the people and things she assumed ownership of, Erik included. How would she react when she learned – if she didn't know already – that the heart of her prized magician belonged to another?

The Daroga took me to the very heart of the palace of Mazanderan, a place that had gone unknown to me even in my aimless wandering during my time in Persia. There were no common servants to be seen here, only the mysterious guards known as eunuchs, whose purpose I still did not understand, nor particularly wanted to learn about. The dark doors at the end of the last hallway we traveled through were surprisingly plain and uninspiring despite their importance, but it only seemed to add to the dark, ominous atmosphere all the more. By now, it felt as though even the swarm of butterflies in my stomach were now too afraid to move.

"I can go no further." Nadir said to me quietly, and I whimpered. He silently motioned to the two eunuchs at the doors, who each gave me a sympathetic look in turn before opening the chamber doors and escorting me inside.

The inside of the khanum's chambers were dark, and I was immediately engulfed in a cloud of heavy incense smoke that made the inside of my nose burn and my eyes water, but I did not even have the courage to cough. I was so afraid of the woman I was about to meet that I feared what a single wrong look could cost me, and I had not even seen her yet! Once I became adjusted to the thick smoke, I wiped my streaming eyes and looked around at my new surroundings.

It was though I had stepped into a dream. Through the smoke I could see long curtains of gauzy material hanging lazily from the ceiling, and the floor was covered in a sea of plush, jewel-bright silk and satin pillows. I had not expected the room to be so crowded; at least two dozen harem girls lounged on those pillows, all speaking in hushed tones that drifted into silence when they became aware of my presence, all turning their dark eyes on the one poor, terrified European girl in the bulky cotton dress and badly disheveled hair. I could only imagine the mess I looked right then, between doing a sloppy job at dressing myself this morning due to my haste, and to the redness of my face and swollen eyes thanks to my fear.

The eunuch guards said something behind me in their native tongue, and were soon answered by a dark woman's voice, lost somewhere in the haze. The guards behind me bowed their way out of the chambers, and even the harem girls took their leave, retreating into the shadows of the chambers where I could no longer see them. I was alone, with the empress of predators stalking somewhere unseen in the gloom around me. I was back in the tiger's cage again, only this time, Erik wouldn't be there to save me.

No one would.

"Come closer, child."

I can't say I wasn't surprised when the khanum beckoned to me in French, but I was suddenly so compelled to obey her that I was pulled forward as though I was being pushed by a giant invisible hand, making my way through the incense smoke and gauzy curtains until I found myself within the spider's web.

A mountain of pillows covered the marble floors before me, and lying within their center was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Compared to her, Gisele would have been no better than the "street urchins" she was so fond of associating myself to. The khanum had the same rich, dark skin as all her people did, but there was an almost bronze quality to hers that shimmered in the mysterious light of her chamber, her hair a thick black curtain that was undoubtedly as smooth as silk. Her eyes were as black as night, with a playful, yet clearly malicious glint to them that was highlighted all the more by her perfect lips which were as red as blood. Upon seeing me she smiled kindly, which again was unexpected to me, but I felt no comfort from the friendly gesture.

"My dear, you look as though you've seen a ghost. Come, sit with me." The khanum held one perfectly sculpted hand out towards me, but I was still too petrified to either accept or refuse her offer. Although her smile did not weaken, there was a flicker of annoyance in my hesitation to her invitation. "Now, now, my dear, you have no reason to be afraid. I merely want a chat with you, woman to woman. We are all sisters here. Now, sit with me." It was no longer a request; she was demanding me. I had no choice but to approach her with heavy feet, holding my skirts under me as I took a rather stiff seat on one of the pillows beside her, still keeping a cautious distance, hoping that she wouldn't notice I was doing so. She seemed satisfied, however, and picked up two crystal goblets from a nearby tray and handing one to me. The liquid inside had the same color and consistency of blood. My stomach writhed.

"Do not fear. It is not poisoned." The khanum said light-heartedly, as though she were discussing the matter over tea before taking a long drink from her own goblet. I followed her example, faking a small sip with tightly pursed lips. When the liquid touched my lips, I could taste the bite of the alcohol, but the wine itself had a bitter, almost metallic flavor to it. It took an incredible amount of self-control to not throw the goblet away from me in disgust. The khanum laughed dryly.

"Do you know why you're here, Christine?"

I didn't bother to ask her how she knew my name, and was just barely able to croak out a weak, "No, ma'am."

"It has come to my understanding that you and my magician have formed a… unique bond with one another. Tell me, is this true?"

I swallowed thickly, trying to find my voice, and remembering what Nadir told me before he brought me here. "Erik is my voice tutor. He heard me singing, and offered to give me lessons in the evening. There is nothing else between us other than that."

"Nothing more, even though you two were seen in the Garden of Innocence last night together. Quite an unusual place to hold a music lesson, wouldn't you agree? You might be pretty, Miss Christine, but you're not a very good liar."

I struggled for an excuse, but only succeeded in opening and closing my mouth silently a few times, like a fish out of water.

"But that does not matter. Even the best excuses couldn't hide your obvious affection for him, or his for you. I can see it in your eyes, just as I could see it his eyes, long before he was aware of it himself. When he first came to me, he was wilder than the beasts that live in the jungles of my kingdom. I had long believed that no one could ever tame him. Nor would they have wanted to, with that abomination he has for a head. It seems, though, that I have been proven wrong." There was a sudden chill to her voice as she took another drink from the goblet; I could have sworn I saw frost form on the crystal. "And it's not everyday that I am proven wrong."

By now I was sure I was visibly trembling, and the room was suddenly far too hot for comfort.

"There is no need to fear me, my pet." The khanum continued, as though she could feel my distress. "You hold no interest to me, other than the power you have over Erik's heart. It is the Grand Vizier you should properly fear. However, I have taken the liberty to send him away for the time being, until you and your family have long left this place. I am interested to see how this game will turn out. I do not want to see it end so soon."

_Game? This was all a game to her? Heavens above, this woman was a monster!_

"I know what Erik is after." The dark woman went on, swirling the remaining liquid around in her goblet and staring into it thoughtfully. "But he is too arrogant and ignorant to fully understand the full power of the Scroll of Eros. It is power that is even beyond him."

"Erik does not need the Scroll." I said meekly, the words coming forth before I could stop them. "He is too great of a person and a magician to need beauty to make his life worthwhile."

"And I assume you're going the be one to make him see that?" The tone in the khanum's voice made me think of a cobra, coiling into itself, ready to strike. I fell silent again, my words failing me, and I was too afraid to say anything wrong lest she would lash out at me with her infamous cruelty.

The khanum chuckled darkly. "Perhaps you have yet to prove me wrong again. Just do not forget, my pet, that no matter how much you think you might be able to change a man, it is amazing what lengths they are willing to go through to get what they want, no matter what the cost. Even a notion so absurd as _love_ is not strong enough to change that."

Something icy cold despite the heat of the room wrapped around my chin, and I realized with horror that the woman beside me had leaned towards me without my even knowing so to carefully take my face in her hands, making me look directly into those cold, merciless eyes.

"Do give Erik my regards when you see him. I have not seen him in several days myself." With that, she leaned forward and kissed my forehead, as gently as a mother would kiss her child, but when she pulled her hand back, I felt a thin, razor-sharp pain across my cheek. Not bothering to find out what she had done, I took full advantage of her dismissal and was on my feet in an instant, bolting towards the door as fast as my legs could carry me, the khanum's laughter chasing me the whole way and down the hall before I felt it was safe enough to stop.

I stood at the edge of the hallway, I wanted nothing more than to break down into tears, to dissolve into a mindless puddle of nothing and stay that way. Never in my life had I been so terrified; not when I was left alone when my father died, not when I was faced with a tiger, not even when Erik's face had been exposed to me for the first time just before the changeling's curse took over.

_The khanum knows…she knows about Erik and I, as does the Grand Vizier. Oh, God, what's going to happen to us?_

Wrapping my arms around my middle I sank down to the floor, using all my willpower to hold back my tears, with each and every one of my thoughts on Erik, and how I would have given anything to see him at that time.

"Miss Daaé?"

Slowly, I attempted to lift my head towards the voice, and a wave of cooling relief flooded me as I found myself looking into Nadir's worried jade-green eyes. I did not bother to stop the tears then, but I had not yet regained my ability to speak.

"Christine? What's wrong? What happened?"

I shook my head pathetically, my throat thick with tears, and the burning in my cheek flaring back to life. Lifting one hand dully to my face, I touched the spot where the khanum had held me, and when I brought my hand away, there was blood on my fingertips.

"I see she got you." Nadir said sadly before taking hold of my arms and helping me to my feet. "Come, let's get you out of here."

At first, I had naturally assumed that Nadir was just going to take me back to my apartments, where he would probably assure me I would be safest there, but instead I soon realized that we were backtracking to Erik's own chambers. When we stepped inside, I vaguely remember being surprised that the rooms were no longer in the shambled ruins as they had been the night of the attack, but rather looked very much like when I first started arriving for my singing lessons. Even the German piano was repaired, as though it had never been touched in the first place. Ayesha was sitting on the piano's elaborately carved bench, regarding us both with a look of surprise as we entered. And standing beside her…

"Erik," I breathed, breaking away from Nadir's gentle hold and rushed across the chamber to throw myself into my maestro's arms, burying my face against his black robes as I finally allowed the tears to flow freely down my face and into the fabric on his shirt. Erik caught me as I wrapped my arms tightly around his lithe waist and held on for all it was worth in the world.

"Christine?" He did not hide the surprise in his voice. "What's wrong? What happened to your face? Nadir, what happened?"

"The khanum." Nadir said flatly. I could not help but notice the slight edge of trepidation to his voice. He did not want to tell Erik that I had been in the same room as the khanum, and by myself. "She requested to see Christine earlier this morning."

"And you allowed it to happen?" Erik snarled at the other man, clutching me tighter to him.

Nadir sighed, clearly annoyed with Erik's outburst. "What was I supposed to do, Erik? Refuse her? Both of our heads would be on a silver platter by now if I had, you know that. I didn't know _why_ she wanted to see Christine, but I could trust that as unpredictable that woman is, she's not about to start maiming foreign guests."

"That's because Christine's not the one she was after." Erik's voice was dark, chilling, and I shuddered against him.

_Mazanderan is a kingdom of the darkest games…_

And the favors were just turned over to the khanum's side, and I had delivered the winning pawn right into her hands.

Slowly, Erik unwound his arms from around my trembling shoulders and gently guided me to sit down on the piano's bench. Ayesha didn't say a word, but instead crawled into my lap, her small presence a welcoming comfort. Erik knelt before me, clasping my clammy hands in his talon-like fingers. "Christine… I need you to tell me what happened when you saw the khanum. What did she say to you? What does she know?"

A wave of guilt crashed through me. I suddenly felt that I was to blame for everything that was to come in the future, for every force that would inevitably try to drive Erik and I apart… I had finally found happiness once more in my life, and had finally given Erik the happiness he had always deserved, only to have it shattered between us before pulling us violently apart. Erik might have been sitting right before me, but he already felt to be a thousand miles away.

Word by shaking word, I told him of what had taken place within the khanum's chambers. I told him that we had been spotted the night before, and that she had sent the Grand Vizier away for a few days merely to prolong the events that would transpire from his newfound knowledge of Erik's newest and greatest weakness. Just as I was about to lapse into her knowledge of Erik's pursuit of the Scroll of Eros, I paused, then let the subject drop. I was not sure if Nadir knew of Erik's secret mission to obtain the scroll for himself, or if he knew about the scroll at all, so I decided it would be better to not mention it in the first place. The last thing any of us needed was a row between Erik and Nadir when we needed to remain closer together than ever before.

And somewhere in all of this, I still had to tell Erik that my family was leaving Persia…

"So, it's for the best then." Nadir said solemnly after a moment's silence. "The sooner that Christine and her family leave Persia, the better."

I silently cursed and thanked Nadir at the same time. Nadir might have done the hard part for me, but at the same time I had felt that it was my responsibility to tell Erik that I would soon be traveling back to France and leaving him behind in this wretched, backwards place. I braced myself for Erik's outburst, for that inevitable rage that I was sure to encounter when he learned that we would be separated, but to my simultaneous shock and relief, it never came. When I finally dared to look back onto Erik's face, I saw that he had adverted his eyes away from me, and the faraway gaze held some very unexpected emotions for me. Sadness, I had expected. Loneliness I had expected as well.

But expectance? It was as if…

It was as if he had known long before I would have ever told him.

As the tension mounted in the chamber, Nadir seemed to sense that whatever came to pass would be between Erik and myself. The Daroga left Erik's apartments without another word. When the door clicked shut behind him, Erik rose, crossing over to one of the apartment's wide windows, staring blankly out onto the gardens beyond, bathed the blazing heat of a typical Persian day. I only felt cold on the inside. Cold and empty, as though we were already a thousand miles apart. Shakily, I rose from the piano bench; Ayesha tumbled off my lap before finding a safe place to conceal herself, leaving us with the privacy that we needed.

I approached Erik as one might a wounded animal, using extreme caution in case he would choose to lash out. The khanum was wrong about one thing, although I would have never admitted it; I have not tamed Erik. I had merely calmed his spirit, but I well knew that he was just as unpredictable as before, that the unbridled magic was still rampaging within him. It was only my extreme trust that he would not turn that untapped power on me that urged me forward, that gave me the strength the reach out and take hold on his sleeve. When I spoke, my words were soft, careful, as though I was stepping on thin ice. "Erik?"

He said nothing, and only continued to stare out the window.

"Erik? Erik, please talk to me. I know that you're upset right now, but I was going to tell you… I promise I was. It was why I needed to find you in the first place." Tears burned my eyes and I felt my throat tighten. "I don't care what the dangers are from here on out… I just want to be with you, no matter what. So please…don't be angry with me."

It was the small, pathetic sob that escaped my throat on the last word that finally seemed to catch his attention. His shoulders slumped before he finally turned to face me, and to my relief I could see no hint of anger in those golden eyes. Gently, he curled his long fingers against my cheek, brushing away the few stray tears that had managed to escape.

"I am not upset with you, Christine. How could I be?" I leaned into his touch, savoring the last few moments of physical contact we had as my heartstrings began to snap, one at a time. Then his voice took on a surprisingly sad tone when he spoke next, as though he was dreading what had to be said to me. "In fact… I am the one who should be apologizing, for I have a confession of my own. I already knew that you and your family were leaving…because I was the one who inspired your uncle's sudden urgency to return to Paris."

I stared up at Erik, dumbfounded. "You…you did… But, how? And _why?_"

"Illusions are one of my greatest strengths concerning magic. Convincing your uncle that there is sudden urgent business that he must attend to back in Paris, and that he must leave to do so as soon as possible, was not a hard task. Besides, Christine…" Erik clasped my hands in his, but I could not make myself look at him. I wanted to be mad at him, for doing such a thing that meant our separation, but in my heart of hearts I knew that this was hurting Erik just as much as it was hurting me. "Nadir is right, as much as I hate to admit it. It has become too dangerous for you here. With not only the Grand Vizier learning about us, and now with the khanum encouraging anything that might happen…" He broke off, shaking his head, and long strands of ash-brown hair fell into his eyes. "I could never forgive myself if something happened to you."

"But you wouldn't let anything happen to me…would you?"

Erik's eyes softened, and grew a little sadder. "Of course I wouldn't. But I would rather _know_ that you're safe and out of reach of the Grand Vizier and the khanum than risk keeping you here."

"But…but…" My arguments had run thin. I could think of nothing that could have possibly convinced him otherwise. "I can't be apart from you. I just can't. You gave me back the magic that was missing in my life, Erik. You gave me back my soul. How can I just leave you after you've done so much for me, and I've barely done anything in return?"

"Christine… Christine…" Erik sighed my name as he pulled me towards him, embracing me tightly for what felt to be the last time. "You have done more for me than I had ever hoped of anyone. You have seen my face beyond my mask… and not only did you not run away, but you somehow found it in your heart to accept it. That is something that I had long ago thought no one in this world would be able to do. You have given me hope, and a will to live. And now, this is something I must do for you, while we still have the time."

I said nothing, and only continued to cling to him; breathing in his unique scent, memorizing the rhythm of his heartbeat, and wishing that this would never end. I'm not sure how long we remained there, holding one another by the window of his chambers, but it was some time later before he spoke again.

"Christine… Have you ever heard of the legend of the white rose and the nightingale?"

I pulled out of his arms, looking up at him as I shook my head. Once again, he was no longer looking at me, but rather gazing thoughtfully back out over the gardens.

"It's a timeless Arabic fairytale. It's the story of a nightingale who fell in love with a white rose; two species who were never destined to be together by the decree of Allah. But regardless of His warnings, the nightingale would appear to the rose each night, trying to serenade her with song, but the rose would always keep her petals tightly closed to him, for she feared the repercussions of what they would risk. Until, one night, she finally overcame her fears and opened her petals to the nightingale, and from their love was born the red rose, a creation Allah had never intended the world to see." Erik looked back down at me, raising one hand to lightly rest his fingertips against my cheek, his thumb on my lips. "A forbidden love…but one that is not impossible. It has become too dangerous here for us to take such a risk. So now, Christine, I need you to trust me, to not fight me, and I promise that I'll come and find you in Paris."

I opened my mouth, although I was not sure what I was going to say, but I was never given the chance. With one last, sad look and a small, hopeful smile, Erik passed his hand over my eyes, and a great feeling of sleepiness came over me, taking over each and every one of my senses to the point where I didn't even have the energy to protest.

The last thing I heard before the darkness took me was Erik's voice.

"I'll find you again in Paris… I promise."

-

I remembered was floating aimlessly through a sea of mist, detached from my body and all reality, savoring the wonderful warm, fuzzy feeling that surrounded me as I was rocked peacefully to the sound of rushing water.

Back and forth, back and forth… Rocking me as gently as a mother holding her newborn…

I wanted to stay there… Stay forever in this nameless place where time was irrelevant, where I was safe and warm and free of all the troubles of the real world. But as I slowly became more aware of my surroundings, the misty sea of nothing began to fade away, the peaceful gray that filled my vision and mind growing fainter as solid, bodiless objects began to take its place…

Then, a sound came to me, drifting over the rush of water. What started as a murmur soon became more defined, and as the real world came into blurred view before my waking eyes, the sound too solidified into the voice of a young woman.

"Christine? Christine! Are you waking up? Answer me!"

Who was this person speaking to me? Did I know her?

A figure appeared in my line of vision; a round face, framed by ringlets of ashy-blonde hair, and two wide, watery eyes that swam with worry.

I knew that face. And I knew her name.

"Francine?"

My cousin breathed a sigh of relief, and then forced a smile. "Thank goodness. You were beginning to worry me. And Rosie."

I made an effort to push myself up into a sitting position on the hard mattress I found myself laying on. I felt groggy, as though my head was full of cotton, and my arms shook beneath me. Leaning back against the wall, I rubbed at my burning eyes, collecting my thoughts. "Why were you worried?" I asked with a yawn.

"Well… You've been asleep since we got on the boat yesterday. It's almost noon now. At first we though you were just seasick, like the rest of us, but you weren't answering the door, and some of the crew said you hadn't been out of your room since we left port…"

Francine's words hit me like a ton of bricks, making my head spin as I tried to grasp the situation. "On the boat? What boat?" I demanded, not bothering the mask the panic in my voice.

Francine looked at me, confused. "Why, the boat we're on right now. Don't you remember? We left the Mazanderan port yesterday morning…"

For the first time since I woke up, I looked around at my surroundings. I was no longer in my luxurious quarters at the Mazanderan palace, but rather in a small cabin of a boat, complete with a small desk bolted to the floor, oil lamps swinging from the ceiling, and a small porthole window that showing nothing but blue waters beyond.

A wave of cold dread washed through me, and without asking another word, I was up from my bed, flinging open the door to my cabin and dashing through the narrow hallways, loosing my footing every time the boat rocked with the swells, but I fought my way up to decks where I burst from the ship's hull into full, blinding daylight. I found myself standing on the deck of a giant trans-ocean steamer with water surrounding the vessel on all sides, and off in the horizon, I could almost see the thin strip of land that marked as the distant world of Persia and the rest of the enigmatic middle-eastern continent. Deep within my chest, I felt something break as I left my hope, my soul, and my heart with the man I had left behind.

"Christine!" Francine desperately called out my name as she joined me on the deck, looking both extremely frightened and confused. "Christine, what's wrong? Why don't you remember what happened?"

I remained silent for a moment, still staring dumbfounded at the small strip of land as it continued to grow further and further away, until it disappeared from my sight completely. Never taking my eyes off that spot, I only vaguely remember muttering, "It was Erik."

Francine blinked at me. "Erik? He was the magician, wasn't he, Christine?" When I didn't answer, her eyes softened, and she placed one of her hands over mine. "Two days ago, Gisele said you ran from the chambers as if something was after you, and when you returned, she said you were in some sort of trance; you didn't say anything to her or my aunt, and just packed up your belongings in silence. It was the same when we got on the boat yesterday… You were completely vacant, but I had only assumed it was because we had to depart so early in the morning – it was before sunrise, after all. Did he do something to you, Christine?"

I didn't answer her, but I had no reason to. Erik had made it so I wouldn't have fought any more before I left, so I would get on the boat with no qualms, and no further problems. Because God as my witness, if I had known how much leaving him would hurt compared to the pain I felt standing on the deck of that steamer ship, I would have never been able to tear myself away.

"Christine?" Francine ventured quietly once more. "You were in love with him, weren't you?"

Once again, I did not answer her. The tears that had filled my eyes and cascaded down my face stole my voice from me, and I had little strength to do anything else but sink down to the cracked wooden deck, supporting myself against the iron railing as hopeless sobs were choked from my throat.

Francine said nothing more. She only wrapped her arms around my shoulders and held me close as the steamer continued to chug its way steadily to back to France.

-

**Author's Note:** The whole part with Christine and the khanum was unplanned, but I decided to go with it anyway. Half of it was thanks to you, my reviewers, who wanted to see some interaction between the two characters, and I'm glad I put it in considering how much it adds to the plot and to Christine's plight. The next chapter's already being written, but seeing how I go back to school next week, updates might take a bit longer than usual (as seems to be the case for so many fics these days). So hang in there, faithful readers. I can proudly say that this fic's come too far along to be abandoned now. And for me, that's already an accomplishment.


	16. Chapter Twelve: Paris at Midnight

Author's Note: Yes, yes, yes, I know it's been ages, but I'm keeping my word, and have not abandoned the story, just like I promised, and I fully intend to keep that promise. So please, don't flay me for being so late. This semester at school is totally kicking my ass, and I've been so absorbed in writing term papers that writing prose was something that I had to almost re-learn! Yes, it's been that bad. 

For the second half of the story, I've changed from Christine's first person POV to standard third person POV, because as you'll see as the story wears on, keeping up with just Christine's POV will be difficult, and there would be too many interludes that would be too short for my liking. I know I'm carrying out one of the biggest writing taboos, but I don't think it'll ruin the story too much. At least, I hope not.

So, with that said, I give you a nice, long chapter, that I hope will hold over until the next chapter comes out. As the semester progresses, things will only get more hectic, so please bear with me, and trust me when I say this fic will be seen through until the end.

A million thanks to my beta, Orit Petra.

Chapter Twelve Paris at Midnight 

The full moon hung high over the singled peaks of the townhouses of Paris, bathing the City of Lights in a mystical silver glow. It was the perfect sort of night for a stroll in the park, or dinner on the veranda: it was a night for lovers.

But for Christine Daaé, who gazed up at the silver jewel in the sky from the window of her bedroom, the night was cold, unfriendly, and devoid of life and magic. It was the same moon, the same sky that she had seen during her stay in the distant kingdom of Persia, but it all seemed like another world in another lifetime. It was like a hazy memory, a forgotten dream, and she often found herself wondering if she had even been there at all.

Until she remembered him. Then she knew that it couldn't have been anything less than real, because never in her wildest dreams and untamed imagination could she have ever dreamed up anyone quite like Erik.

A year. Had it really been a year since Christine returned to her home city of Paris with her aunt, uncle and three cousins? Sometimes it seemed much longer ago; at other times, it only felt like yesterday. The land of Persia seemed no more real to her anymore than the fairytales her father used to tell her in her youth, which were all inhabited by a dark magician whose voice continued to haunt her dreams each and every time she fell asleep.

Christine had long ago lost track of time. The days blurred together, running into one another and becoming an intangible muck, like running paint on a canvas, mixing together so that it was impossible to discern one color from the other. The only thing that indicated the passage of the year was the change of seasons. From her room in her family's townhouse, or their retreat in the country, she could watch as the gentle green hues of spring gradually deepened to summer, marked by the roads that shimmered in the mid-day heat, and the children running bare-foot within shady groves and the shallow ponds in hopes of cooling off.

As the weeks and months crawled by at a snail's pace, the days eventually became cooler, the light softer, and the deep green of the leaves began to steadily change to radiant shades of red and gold. It wasn't long after that the first snows of winter moved in, blanketing the world in its iridescent white beneath an unfeeling, iron gray sky. Winter seemed to last the longest of all, and Christine found herself longing for the warmer climates of Persia, where she could spend all night in one of the palace's many enchanted gardens, lost in the magic and music that only her dark maestro seemed to control…

Christine shook her head, her chestnut curls whipping across her face as she desperately tried to clear her mind of Erik. Thinking of him only brought on more loneliness, more sorrow, more tears. When she left Erik, a great void had been created in her heart that no amount of time would be able to heal. When her father died, she missed him terribly, as she still did now, but his death still held a sense of closure, an understanding and acceptance that she would never see him again. Being torn apart from Erik was different. He had forced her to leave Persia because of the potential danger that the Grand Vizier and the khanum both presented, especially when they learned of Christine's relationship with the court magician, knowing that by keeping her away she would be safe. But what of Erik? How was he coping with the Vizier's wrath and the khanum's cruelty? Was he able to stay one step ahead of them, or had he fallen victim to the Vizier's attempt at revenge again? Was he alive, or was he… he…

Christine bit back the tears that threatened to rise again. Crying was useless, but not knowing whether or not Erik was even alive was eating her heart and soul away from the inside out. She tried over and over to convince herself that Erik was smarter and stronger than the Vizier, and that he would not allow his defenses to drop again. Besides, Nadir was still with him, and was undoubtedly ready to catch any precautions Erik was willing to throw into the wind. She knew she could rely on Nadir – trust Nadir – to keep Erik from doing anything too irrational.

Or so she hoped. It was not as though Erik had a past reputation of listening to anyone when he didn't feel like it.

Christine sighed, her breath fogging the smooth glass of her window, and turned her attention away from the moon and down onto the empty, dark streets below, lit only dimly by a single yellow gaslight. It had been hours since anyone had passed before her. The whole of Paris might as well have been a ghost town, but she was used to being alone. When her father died, she was left a simpering shadow of her former cheerful self that was easily susceptible to her aunt and Gisele's bullying. Now it was a different type of alone, and thus Christine had adapted a new way of dealing with it. The child in her had grown up, leaving her aloof and cold to the world and to her family. It was as though a shield of glass and ice had formed around her skin, blocking anything and everything around her out. Gisele had long ago lost interest in harassing Christine on a daily basis, seeing as she no longer fought back, and had now turned her devious attention to finding a proper suitor.

_Which is perfectly fine_, Christine thought with a snort. _I just hope that the poor fop she weds knows what he's getting himself into. Or, better yet, he'd be too stupid to know the difference_.

Christine grimaced at her own bitterness. Dear God, she was becoming more and more unpleasant and irritable by the day. She was sounding more like…like…

_I'm sounding like Erik when I first met him_. Christine thought, her mood immediately returning to one of sorrow as her thoughts once more returned to her masked maestro. She turned her eyes once more to the moon, the silvery light catching in the diamond-like tears that filled her eyes. _Oh Erik… Where are you, my angel? You promised… you promised…_

Down the hall from her room, the grandfather clock began to toll the hour. Christine counted the deep chimes nonchalantly.

_Nine…ten…eleven…_

Midnight.

A small, sudden movement from below caught Christine's attention, drawing her eyes back down to the streets as a slight spark of hope flared within her breast. It was a fool's hope, really, but over the past year, Christine had fallen into a pleasant fantasy that one night, nearing the stroke of midnight, Erik would appear below her window, like a dark prince from one of her beloved childhood fairytales, ready to sweep her off into the night. Oh course, she hardly expected such a fantasy to come true, but the sudden movement of shadow and light on the streets below caused her breath to hitch in her chest, and her heart pleaded maybe…just maybe…

But to her crushing disappointment, nothing emerged from the darkness but the lithe, slithering figure of a cat. Christine sighed and sat back, feel absolutely foolish at her childish hope as she glared daggers down at the animal. She even had half a mind to go outside herself and shoo the cat away, to throw a stone at it for bringing her hopes up, just for the morbid satisfaction of getting her revenge on it…

As she watched the cat with silent, seething resentment, Christine slowly realized something very peculiar about the situation.

The cat was sitting in the street, perfectly motionless…and it was staring up at her.

Christine frowned, leaning closer to the glass, cocking her head slightly in confusion.

The cat cocked its head back. Then, with a gasp of surprise from the young woman's throat, the cat rose to its back legs, standing up like a tiny human with a tail, and proceeded to walk backwards with slow, careful steps, in the circle of lamplight on the paved road below. Christine blanched, pressing her face against the window as she started in disbelief. The cat stopped walking in circles, only to do a perfect backwards somersault before sitting back down and staring back up at her again. Then, in the pale light of the gas lamp, Christine took note of the cat's pale, silky coat and dark pointed face, and the sparkle of what appeared to be gems around its slender neck…

"Ayesha!" Christine gasped. Before her rationality could catch up with her, she tore herself away from her window, grabbing a coat out of her wardrobe before hastily leaving her room, not caring about anyone else in the house as she ran down the stairs and virtually flew out the front door.

The night was warm, but there was still a chilling bite to the wind as it tugged at the dark ringlets that framed Christine's face. Silence cloaked the street, and it was once again empty, even of the cat that had just been performing below her window. Christine suddenly felt very foolish standing out there in the open, in the middle of the night, clutching her thin coat to her frame and probably looking very much like she had seen a ghost. She suddenly wasn't even sure if what she had seen was real. What if she drifted off at her window and dreamed the whole thing, and it was the surprise of the dream alone that woke her up? Christine sighed, ready to turn back into the house where she would curl up under her blankets with nothing more than her own humility to keep her company.

Just as she was about to turn and go back inside, another slight movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention again. Christine's heart gave one more hopeful leap in her chest before she could stop it, only this time she was not disappointed when she saw the cat – the same cat – sitting in the middle of the road, staring at her once more. Then it stood and turned, flicking its tail like a summoning beckon, and bounded off into the shadows.

"Ayesha!" Christine called after the cat, not caring who heard her or how crazy she sounded. "Ayesha, wait!" All reason and future consequence was forgotten as Christine pursued the cat, alone, down the dark streets of Paris.

The crystal light of the full moon illuminated the streets enough for Christine to see by, but the city itself was embraced in shadows so black that they seemed to be living, breathing entities of their own, seductive and enticing. They seemed anxious to lure her into their depths and lock her away, but it was her own determination and burning, throbbing hope that kept her from being afraid, or even noticing them at all. She had long ago lost track of where she was going, of which street she turned down, or which district she had wandered into, and it was only the scant flashes of the cat's pale fur that told her she was on the right trail.

Christine followed the cat – Ayesha, if that's who it truly was, but Christine could not be entirely sure – to the very heart of Paris, through the shadow of Notre Dame Cathedral and past the great towering fortress-manors of the upper class, until she finally knew where she was being taken to. Before Christine knew it, she was standing before the grand Paris Opera House, looming before her, a colossus of architecture and sculpture that was a crushing, living presence all by itself that not even the night could touch. The massive building that was usually so majestic and beautiful glared down on her like a monster, ominous and overpowering, but Christine did not feel fear. In fact, she felt drawn to the Opera House, as though there was a great magnetic pull drawing her towards an unseen destination. Slowly, Christine climbed the marble steps as though in a trance, approaching the massive front doors that towered over her and disappeared into the darkness. Without thinking, Christine's hands came up to grip the massive handles of the doors, giving them a firm tug, only to discover that they wouldn't budge and inch. What had she been expecting? But then, why did the cat lead her here?

Christine sighed, moving away from the door. _Maybe waiting for Erik finally made me go mad…_

Just then, something flickered again out of the corner of Christine's eye caught her attention, and her head snapped around just in time to see the pale shape of the cat slink around the corner of the Opera House, down an ally before being consumed by shadow once again. The quiet voice of reason was still silent to Christine's ears as she quickly followed, groping her way along the side of the monstrous structure where the moonlight could not reach. It was so dark in that small ally that fear took a swift hold on Christine's heart, and her mind was quickly consumed with thoughts of why it was such a bad idea to be down there… Anyone could be hiding down here… And if anything were to happen to her, no one would ever know…

A sudden swift bang caused Christine to cry out in fright, pressing herself against the brick wall of the Opera House, her heart pounding inside her chest. Her mission forgotten, she was on the verge of bolting out of the ally, back to her aunt's townhouse until a bright light bloomed in the darkness of the night, drawing Christine's eyes to its source like a moth to the flame. Standing before her was a tall, stern-looking woman dressed completely in black, her dark, graying hair bound in a tight bun at the back of her head. The woman's gray eyes seemed the pierce the darkness as she stared down at Christine in the same way a governess looked down on a misbehaving child.

"What in the world are you doing out here, child?" The woman demanded, bringing the gas lamp she was holding closer to the younger woman's face. Christine, now outright trembling, suddenly felt very much as though she was being confronted by an inquirer for some crime that she committed. "What do you think you're doing, wandering around unescorted at this time of night? Well? Speak up!"

Christine opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, but no words came out. What was she supposed to say? That she had followed a cat here in hopes that it would lead her to a masked, changeling magician that she met over a year ago in Persia? If she said that, the woman would most likely call the Paris asylum! After a moment of dumb silence, the older woman sighed, lowered her lamp and relaxed her stance. "What is your name, child?" Christine squeaked out her name, but hardly loud enough for the woman in black to hear. "What did you say?"

"Christine. Christine Daaé."

The older woman blinked, raising the lamp again. "Did you say your name was Christine?"

Christine nodded, dumbly, before taking notice of the pale cat weaving its way in between the woman's legs and disappearing through the door where she had come out from. Christine couldn't place the look on the woman's face, but the closest emotion she could relate it to would be relief, of all things. "Come with me, child. There's something I think you should see." The woman stepped aside, revealing the gaping black void of the door she had appeared from. All rational thought fled as Christine's curiosity consumed her. She stood from the wall and walked by the woman and into the darkness without a single word.

The inside of the Opera House was cloaked in darkness, and the light of the older woman's lamp created only a pool of light which to see by. Christine could smell the richly oiled wood, and the beams that supported the overhead catwalks loomed over her like ghostly phantoms. Shivering, she huddled closer to the circle of light, putting her trust in a woman who was a complete stranger to her in a place that was as foreign as Persia had once been.

"My name…" the woman said suddenly, making Christine start, "Is Antoinette Giry, mistress of the corps de ballet of the Paris opera house. Everyone in the Opera House, however, refers to me as Madame."

"Y-yes, Madame." Christine stammered obediently, as if she had been under the woman's charge for years. In the weak light of the sleeping opera house, Christine could see the cat darting out before them. _If it was Ayesha, then why isn't she saying anything to me?_ Christine wondered vaguely. She wanted to hope, but she was too afraid of inevitable disappointment to think that something wonderful might come from this, regardless of the incredible oddness of the whole situation. "Madame, please… Can you tell me what this is all about?"

"I would rather not." Madame Giry's voice dropped to a whisper. "Despite the lateness of the hour, I cannot risk someone overhearing us." Regardless of her earlier skepticism, Christine felt hope flare in her heart. What else could have to be kept secret from any unwanted ears if it wasn't something like…

Madame Giry led her to the end of a hallway, coming to a stop before a door that was bolted with a heavy lock. She drew a large ring of keys out from a pocket in her dress, chose the correct one, and opened the door, allowing Christine to step past her.

The room beyond was completely dark, and Madame Giry's lamp was only able to bring forward the eerie shapes the furniture as the older woman stepped in behind Christine, locking the door behind them once more. As Christine's eyes took time to adjust to the weak light, some small, slight sound caught her ears; a gentle, deep rhythm, as though there was someone else in the room, breathing…

Her eyes came to rest on the silhouette of a divan tucked away in the corner of the room, but there was something else there, too. Was it a person? She could almost make out the legs that were too long for the length of the divan. Heart pounding and head swimming, Christine took a step closer to the ghostly figure, but when the weak light glinted off the hint of what where the face would be, time seemed to stop entirely.

"Erik!" Christine breathed, her choked voice no more than a whisper as she rushed forward, leaning over the figure and taking his face in her hands. God above, it _was_ him! Although he did not even stir as Christine leaned over him, and he looked more than a little worse for wear, but it was still her Erik, her dark magician from Persia, here, in Paris, nearly a year after their first meeting. Tears that Christine did not bother to stop filled her eyes as she looked him over, taking the moment to just absorb the sight of him, trying desperately to convince herself that this was not some cruel dream, and to overcome the disbelief that he was really _here_. He looked thinner than normal, which was emphasized by the plain black he wore rather than the heavy robes she has always seen him in. His gauntness gave her cause to worry about his well-being. Small cuts and healing bruises were visible on his neck and hands, and even through the mask, she could see the dark circles under his eyes, as though he was truly exhausted. His wings were unhidden, and draped lifelessly on either side of the divan. Christine wondered how the older woman had the stamina to get Erik down from roof and to this room when they were still out. She remembered it had been difficult enough moving Erik across the palace, and that was with Nadir helping her the entire time.

"Ah…" Madame Giry began slowly, watching the scene before her in curious awe. "So you two do know each other."

Christine looked back up at Madame Giry, the light reflecting off the tears that stood in her eyes. "Madame, please tell me… What happened? How did he get here? Is he alright?"

"It happened three nights ago." Madame Giry started, setting the lamp on a small table and turning up the flame to bring more of the small room to light. "I had just finished checking on my girls when I heard some of the late-night stagehands commenting about a commotion on the roof, but seemed to pass it off as nothing. Of course, at first I had thought it was a burglar or a vagabond, but when I reached the roof, I found him instead, entangled on the stature of Apollo with his lyre. It was, of course, something of a fright, seeing a changeling in the middle of the night; but he was so weak, and possibly injured, that I did not have the heart to turn him into the authorities. So instead I've kept him hidden here."

"Has he woken up?" Christine asked, not taking her eyes off Erik's sleeping form.

"A few times, but only for a few minutes before falling back asleep. When he did, all he spoke was a name over and over. Now I understand he must have been calling out for you, but I cannot imagine how you two can possibly know each other."

"We met when my family went to Persia," Christine explained half-heartedly, soothingly brushing strands of Erik's hair away from his mask, "Erik was the shah's magician, but he was also my maestro. When we left Persia, I was separated from him. That was almost a year ago. To see him here now… I still can't believe it. It's like a dream. He said he would come for me, though…" Christine laughed a little, fighting the teardrops that formed at the corners of her eyes. "I knew I never should have doubted him." Something jumped onto the divan and Christine felt a warm weight against her arm, and when she looked over, she saw the cat that had lead her to the Opera House was sitting right beside her. Christine scoffed at it. "Are you going to speak to me now?"

"What were you expecting?" Ayesha chided back, flipping her tail. "Lest you forget, girl, Parisians are less forgiving towards magic than the people of Persia. I'm sure that if anyone had seen you, you would have looked like an absolute loon talking to a cat in the middle of the night." Despite the cat's bitter tone, there was no resentment in her voice, and Christine couldn't help but giggle and pull Ayesha into a crushing hug.

"I missed you too, Ayesha." Christine said against the cat's silky fur. Ayesha only snorted in response, but she was still purring all the same.

A small sound caught Christine's attention again, and when she looked back over at Erik, she saw with a surge of delight that he was waking up, moving his head from side to side as his eyes fluttered open. "Erik?" Christine said softly, releasing Ayesha and leaning close to the masked man. "Erik?"

Erik's eyes cracked open, the lamplight shining brilliantly off his golden irises. He seemed confused, Christine noted, and she briefly wondered if he would panic. Gently, she said his name again; "Erik."

"Christine?" His beautiful voice was thick with exhaustion, but when he looked at her, the recognition and disbelief in his eyes were unmistakable. Hesitantly, he reached up with one talon-like hand to gently touch the side of her face, the pads of his fingers caressing the soft skin of her cheek. "Gods, can it really be you?"

Christine sighed, leaning into Erik's touch, grasping his hand in her own small one and pressing it closer to her face. "Yes…yes Erik, it's me. I'm here." She vaguely wondered how she had survived so long without his touch.

"Christine…Christine…" Erik struggled to sit up, pulling her down into his embrace. "You're not an illusion… You're really here…" Christine smiled against his shirt, snuggling down into his arms to hide her tears, relishing in his warmth, his scent that she had begun to forget... If this were in fact a dream, she desperately wished that she would never wake up…

"Where am I, Christine? What is this place?"

"You don't remember?" Christine asked gently, pulling out of Erik's arms so he could lie back against the divan again, draping a long arm across his eyes. He seemed to be much weaker than Christine had expected. He didn't seem injured, not like when he was attacked by the hoard of summoned demons a year back in Persia, just merely…exhausted, as though he had been running from something for a very long time. "You're in Paris, Erik. You crashed on the roof on the Opera House. Madame Giry's been taking care of you ever since."

"Then I suppose thanks should be in order." Erik said, acknowledging Madame Giry for the first time, but with an air that suggested he knew she had been there the whole time. "I owe you my gratitude and my life, Madame. Most people would not have been so merciful to a changeling."

The ballet mistress nodded in acceptance to his thanks. "God only knows what anyone else would have done if they found you. If every sorcerer and magician is jailed and executed upon their discovery, then magic shall be nothing more than a faded memory by the turn of the century."

"Erik, how did you get here?" Christine asked, still highly concerned with his current condition. "Why are you in Paris, why now? Did something happen in Persia?"

Erik's eyes darkened with memory. "Yes… Things took a violent turn for the worse, not long after you and your family left. The Vizier was furious that he had been tricked by the khanum into leaving the palace so you could leave Persia unscathed, so he told the shah of my hidden identity as a changeling."

A gasp tore from Christine's throat. "He…he told the shah? What happened?"

Erik shrugged haphazardly. "Just what I had expected to happen. Massive chaos, and the immediate warrant for my arrest and execution for high treason and endangering the shah's life was issued. Ridiculous, I know, but they saw that with so much unidentified raw power at my disposal, I could have turned it on the shah at any time."

Christine frowned. "So why now?"

Once more, Erik shrugged. "Hard to say. Maybe it was because he did not have substantial reasoning to being it forth until he learned I was a changeling. Either way, I had become the enemy of the kingdom in the space of a heartbeat. Luckily, I had an alibi of my own. I turned out, to my greatest luck, that the Vizier is a changeling himself."

"He is? How long have you known?"

"For some months; long before I met you." Erik said. "The vizier may be powerful, but he had too much of his power focused across too many large areas to keep all his spells in check all at the same time. The concealing spell he used to hide his changeling features weakened, and I was just able to catch a glance of his transformation. I could have easily used that information to my advantage, but I figured that I should only use such blackmail in an emergency. Turns out I was right. I revealed him as being a changeling as well, and it created so much pandemonium within the shah's court I was able to escape arrest. Nadir, on the other hand, was not so lucky."

Christine gasped again, her hands flying to her mouth as tears immediately flooded her wide eyes. "Oh, God no! Erik, please don't tell me they…" Before she could go on, Erik cut her off with a gentle chuckle.

"Really now, Christine, do you think I would let them have their way with him after everything Nadir's done to save my hide? I assure you that Nadir was in jail for no more than an hour before I was able to get him out, but that left us both in a predicament. We had to get out of Persia, but with both the Persian army and the Grand Vizier and his minions after our blood it was no easy task. We've been running ever since then. The Persian army stopped following us some time ago… But I am not so sure about the Grand Vizier. I had hoped…that I could have ended it with him before we arrived at Paris, but we've seen neither hide nor hair of them for the past several weeks." Erik sighed, looking away from her. "I shouldn't have come here. Now I've put you in danger."

"Erik, please don't say that." Christine pleaded softly. "I'm just so happy to see you again."

Erik looked back at her, smiling softly, reaching up and entwining his long fingers among stray tendrils of her long hair. "And I'm happy to see you again, too, angel. Words cannot express the joy I feel seeing your face again, hearing your voice once more. Without you, I only felt half-complete, like I had lost the soul I thought I never had. But I've led the Vizier right to you. It would be best if I just left now, and came back when it's all over…"

"What madness are you speaking of? You are in no condition to be going out and fighting your battles!" Madame Giry's sharp voice caused Erik to start, and he stared at her with utter disbelief as the older woman continued to scold him like a child. "Your particularly bad landing on the roof is a clear statement of your exhaustion, and I'm still sure you did a good job spraining something in your wings! You're fortunate enough nothing was broken! A broken leg or arm I know how to fix, but a _wing_? You'd be in quite a predicament if you weren't as lucky as you are! You need rest, and food; you look like you haven't eaten anything in weeks." By now Christine had to fight to stifle her laughter as Erik gawked at the Madame as she continued to chide him. By the time Madame Giry was finished, she sighed heavily, soothing her hair back. "Well, until then, I suppose we have to decide what to do with you. You're more than welcome to stay here. The Opera House is by far large enough for anyone to hide in, and there are so many ghost stories within these walls that no one would think twice about any strange occurrences, just as long as you don't get too careless. If you're in hiding, then this will be the best place for you."

"She's right, Erik." Christine said. "Paris is full of people who have nothing better to do with their time than gossip. If the Grand Vizier is looking for you, it wouldn't be hard for him to find you if there's a hundred rumors of a masked man floating around the city. It's best if you stay somewhere where no one can see you at all."

At first, Christine was sure Erik was going to protest, but to her surprise, he only lay back against the divan with a heavy sigh. "Yes… I suppose you're right. I only wonder how I'll be able to find Nadir again."

"You mean he's not with you?"

Erik shook his head. "When we reached the border of France, we thought that there was something pursuing us. I flew on ahead, hoping to loose them, but we ended up getting separated instead. We were on our way to Paris at the time, so I'm hoping he'll continue on to the city. I had no intentions on letting you see me just yet, Christine, but I had to make sure you were all right. It had been so long since I last saw you… I had to know that you weren't just a dream or a ghost of my imagination after all."

"I'm here." Christine said with a small smile, taking his hand and nuzzling into it again.

"I hate to ruin your happiness, my dear, but if you intend on coming to the Opera House to see Erik on a regular basis, it will begin to attract attention." Madame Giry said. Christine felt her heart drop. She hadn't thought about that, but then the ballet mistress continued to speak. "Therefore, you are my niece, coming to visit from Northern France, understand? That way you can come here and help get him back to health, so I'm not distracted from rehearsals. I've missed too much time in the past few days to risk any more absences. The managers will become suspicious otherwise."

Hope bubbled in Christine's chest as she came to terms with what Madame Giry had just told her. "Oh… Oh, thank you, Madame…"

"But," Madame Giry said shortly. "In order to pull this off properly, you must not draw any suspicions from anybody, including your family. How do you think they will react when they awake in the morning and see you are gone?"

Christine uttered a small gasp. "My gosh… I forgot!" Sudden panic welled up in Christine's chest. If her family found out that Erik was here, then the consequences would be nothing short of disastrous. She looked back at Erik, her dark eyes full of silent apology, but he only nodded.

"It's alright. I know you'll be back."

"I'll always come back." Christine promised, bringing Erik's hand to her mouth and kissing his long fingers.

"Then you best be getting home." Madame Giry said. "I'll see you to the door. I trust that Ayesha will see you home."

From her position on the edge of the divan, the cat sighed. "As though I had much of a choice."

Christine leaned over to kiss Erik gently just on the corner of his mouth before rising from the divan and following the ballet mistress to the door. "Christine." Erik called to her, just before she left. "If you can, keep an eye out for Nadir. He doesn't know where I am, and I can only imagine the type of rut he's in over it."

Christine smiled back at him. "I will." She didn't take her eyes off him until Madame Giry closed the door behind her.

Christine followed the ballet mistress back to the ally door that they had entered at, with Ayesha in the lead. "Now, the Opera House opens to the public at ten in the morning. Feel free to arrive any time after that."

"Yes…thank you." Christine said, stepped out into the alleyway. "I'll return as soon as I can. And Madame Giry, thank you, so much, for taking care of Erik. There are so few honest people left in the world."

Ayesha led Christine back through the darkened streets of Paris, now well into the middle of the night, until she found herself at the front door of her aunt and uncle's townhouse. Thankfully, her sudden departure hadn't woken anyone in the house, and the front door remained unlocked. "Thank you, Ayesha." Christine said to the cat as she opened the door. "Will you please tell Erik for me that I'll be back as soon as I can?"

"What am I now, a carrier pigeon?" The cat scoffed, flipping her tail as she headed back towards the Opera House. Christine couldn't help but laugh a little. As infuriating as Ayesha's superior attitude could be at times, she could not deny that she was almost as happy to see the cat again as she was Erik.

"Oh, and Christine." Ayesha's words caused Christine to pause at the threshold of her house, and look back over her shoulder. "I am glad that you and Erik have found each other. He was never the same after you left. As disinclined as I am to share… I am glad to see him happy again."

"It's nice to see you too again, Ayesha." But the cat had already disappeared into the shadows before Christine could finish speaking.

Christine locked the front door behind her, and was just barely able to drag herself up the stairs and to her room as the exhaustion caused by the night's events washed over her. It had been incredibly hard to leave Erik, again, after not seeing him, not hearing his voice, for almost a year; much worse than any time before. But she didn't feel sad, and her heart was not heavy. In fact, Christine couldn't help but feel happier than she had in the past twelve long, lonely months. She fell asleep that night with a smile on her face from the promise of tomorrow, of seeing Erik again and forever once the sun came up.


	17. Chapter Thirteen: Market Street Meetings

**Author's Note:** Here it is. Next chapter, finally finished. This sucker just did not want to be written. Trust me, there was nothing pleasant about writing this. It was about as much fun as driving steak knives into my skull. Also, my beta has gone MIA, so excuse grammar errors (Orit, come back to me!).

A lot of people have been asking me if Raoul will be making an appearance in this story. I'm sorry Raoul fans (you know who you are), but I have to say no. I know that it would have thrown in a nice romantic-triangle twist, but I know exactly where this story is going, so adding Raoul would have added too much complication…to the point where the story might not have been finished.

Upon saying that, please trust me when I say once again, that I will finish this story. Please stop asking me if it's been abandoned if I don't update in a while, whether it's because of writer's block, or because that little inconvenient thing people call "life". I don't want to be a bitch, but I'm not going to be answering any more e-mails asking "Have you given up on the story" when I state over and over again that no, I haven't given up, and yes, it will be finished. That is all.

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Meetings at Market Street**

"Work?" Christine's aunt replied in a disdainful tone, as though the word were strange and foreign to her. "Why in the world would you want to work?"

Christine shifted from one foot to the other, hoping that the bulkiness of her skirts hid her nervous movements from her aunt's sharp eyes. The parlor where she had found Aunt Celest seemed a bit too warm that day, adding to the discomfort that was already knotting in between her shoulder blades. It was the same way she felt every time she had to ask her aunt a favor, although she was practically a grown woman is society's terms. Her aunt always had a keen talent of being able to see through Christine's excuses as though she were made of glass. Christine might have had an excuse from the ballet mistress to get into the Opera House unimpeded, but trying to convince her aunt to let her go freely was another matter entirely. She had spent the entire morning concocting an idea that would convince her aunt to let her have this small margin of freedom outside the family's city manor, and the excuse of finding work in the city was the best idea she could come up with.

"Yes, Aunt Celest." Christine said meekly, making sure her arms remained pinned firmly down at her sides to keep her fingers from fidgeting with themselves. "It is something I have been thinking of quite a bit of lately. I know I am no longer the child that came to your care after my father died. I know that you have no intentions on maintaining my provisions for much longer, especially since Gisele might possible marry soon. It's time I start thinking about my own well-being."

Celest stared at Christine for a long, hard moment, weighing her words with her eyes, but Christine stood, straight-backed and unblinking, meeting her aunt gaze for gaze.

"And where, exactly, do you plan to find this work?"

Christine felt her heart give a leap of newfound hope. Although she well knew that there was a chance her aunt would refuse her, the fact that she wanted to hear Christine's proposition was progress by itself. "The Opera House. They're hiring for the cleaning staff. I know it doesn't sound like much, but it's the best sort of work I can get."

"The Opera House?" Her aunt repeated, and Christine stiffened at her tone. "Not a very reputable source of work."

"No one has to know." Christine challenged carefully. "No one other than the cleaning staff is allowed into the Opera House during the day. No one…no one you know will see me." When her aunt's expression did not change, Christine had no other choice than to play her last card. If this did not convince the woman, nothing else would. "Besides, Aunt Celest, how can I find a proper husband if I'm in the house all the time?"

To Christine's greatest relief, a spark of realization flared in her aunt's cold eyes, and it was then that Christine knew that she had won. For her aunt knew that when Christine got married, she would leave the care of her aunt and uncle to live with her new husband. And when Christine knew that she was seen as nothing more than a burden to her family, the prospect of her leaving would appeal more to her aunt more than anything else.

"Hmm…" Her aunt tried to look thoughtful, attempting to hide her obvious enthusiasm. "I suppose you are at a suitable marriage age. Perhaps it is time that you start looking for a husband. I'm sure that there are some eligible stagehands working at the Opera House. Very well. You may have your work, dear niece. But if anyone should recognize you, girl, you have nothing to do with this household, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Aunt Celest. Of course." Christine said softly, and politely excused herself from the parlor. The heavy door was barely shut when Christine's face broke out into a broad smile. She had done it. The hardest part was over. Now that she had the freedom to go to the Opera House as she pleased, it would only take until Erik fully healed that they could leave Paris, leave everything that she knew behind and set off into the world to make new lives for themselves, together…

_I'm getting ahead of myself._ Christine thought, trying to clear her head of the giddiness that threatened to make her irrational. _Erik still has to heal, and get his strength back before we even think out getting back on the road again. Besides, we still need to find Nadir; I'm sure he's worried sick. And then there was still the Grand Vizier to deal with…_ Christine shivered. The thought of Erik still needed to finish his conflict with the former Grand Vizier of Persia made her stomach whither with dread, but she knew that they could not spend the rest of their lives running from him.

_First thing's first. I need to get to the Opera House, convince them that I'm Madame Giry's niece come to visit, then tell Erik. But what about Nadir? He may be in Paris, but I don't have the slightest notion of where to even start looking for him…_

Christine hastily retreated back up to her room, retrieving her traveling shoes and a shawl from her wardrobe, then took a moment to try to fix her unruly hair in the mirror. Every moment she spent in the house felt like a moment lost, so without even so much as a final glance in the mirror, Christine left her room, hoping to leave her aunt's home and get to the Opera House without being further impeded. She was nearly out the front door when a figure stepped before her, complete with bonnet and shopping basket.

"Rosie!"

The elderly woman turned, her weathered face lighting up in a smile at the sight of Christine. "Well, hello there, dear. And where might you be going?"

"Oh…just out for a walk, Rosie." Christine winced at her own lie, but she could not bring herself to tell Rose the truth about Erik and the Opera House. Although Rosie had sympathized with Christine's broken heart in the first few months after they left Paris, she could not hide the relief in her eyes when she thought that Christine was safe now that she was away from Erik. She could not even tell Rosie her alibi to go to the Opera House. Besides, most people did not realize how sharp the old woman actually was, but it was a trait Christine had picked up on over the years. It would only be so long before Rosie suspected something was up, so it was important that Christine gave herself as much time as possible to go to the Opera House unimpeded.

The old woman beamed at her. "Well then, if you're just going out to wander aimlessly around Paris, then you might as well come with me to the market." Christine winced at her suggestion, but did not make any excuses as she agreed to go. No need to rise suspicions this early on.

It was a warm, clear day in Paris, and everyone who was anyone was outdoors, enjoying the weather before the heat of summer set in. Market Street was bustling with sellers and buyers, household servants from all classes competing for the best merchandise for that night's supper. Christine stayed as close as she could to Rosie's side as they made their way through the throng, moving from booth to booth as the older woman picked out prime produce and meats. Christine tried to be patient, but she could not help as her attention drifted back towards the Opera House, and thinking about how easy it would have been to slip away, unseen and unnoticed… But she could not do that to Rosie. Not when even she did not know how much longer she and Erik would remain in Paris after he was healed…

Christine followed Rosie to a vendor that sold an impressive display of apples and oranges and other assorted fruit, pretending to take interest in finding the perfect ones for that night's dessert, when a very familiar, very heavily accented voice caught Christine's attention, making her heart lurch in her chest. She turned, her eyes scanning the crowd, until they came to rest on a very familiar face with dark skin, and mysterious jade-green eyes just before he turned back into the mass of people.

"Nadir!"

Christine left Rosie at the fruit vendor, pushing her way through the hoard in a desperate attempt to keep the Persian in sight before she had the chance to reach him. To say that he stood out in a crowd would have been an understatement; while he no longer wore his Daroga uniform from the Mazanderan court, he was still dressed in traditional Persian garments, his dark hair hidden beneath a carefully folded turban. A group of nuns moved in front of Christine, blocking her view of him, but she hastily pushed through them, despite the way they scolded her for her insolence that they called back at her. She could ask for forgiveness later, but if she lost sight of Nadir, who knew how long it would be before she found him again, if ever…

The crowd suddenly parted before Christine, and she took the opportunity to lunge forward, closing the space between them as her hand snagged on his sleeve, pulling him to a stop. Nadir swung around to face his attacker, his jade green eyes alert and ready for action, but when he saw the panting girl clinging to his shirtsleeve, his face softened in both recognition and amazement. "Miss Daaé?"

"Nadir…Thank God…" Christine panted heavily, offering his a worn grin. "And here I thought I wasn't going to be able to catch you."

Nadir smiled. "It's a pleasure to see you too, Miss Daaé. To think, after scouring every inch of this city, that I would run into you here of all places." His dark face grew serious as he cut right to the chase, asking what Christine was waiting to hear. "Christine…have you seen Erik? I lost him just before we reached Paris, and I have been unsuccessful in tracking him down…"

"He's in the Opera House!" Christine exclaimed. "Ayesha found me a few days back, and took me to where Erik's been. He's hurt, he sprained one of his wings, but the ballet mistress of the Opera has been caring for him. She's allowing me to come to the Opera House under the pretense of her niece so I can be with him."

To Christine's surprise, instead of looking relieved, Nadir frowned, but before he could say anything, Christine cut him off. "I know what you're going to say. Erik already gave me the speech. You're going to say that I shouldn't have found you first, that the Grand Vizier is still after the two of you, and that now I'm in danger because of it. Well, I'm tired of hiding, and running. I'm involved with it, whether you and Erik choose to accept it or not. I'm not going to go looking for trouble, Nadir Kahn, but I'm not going to pretend that I can make it all go away by putting my head under a sheet."

Nadir blinked at Christine, then offered a cautious smile. "Actually, Miss Daaé, I was going to say that out of all the places for him to end up, it would figure that he would be at the cultural center of Paris, on purpose or not. Erik's always been far too flamboyant to settle for anything less. I am glad, though, that we have been able to find each other. You are right; the Grand Vizier knows too much about you and Erik for us to simply keep running from him. At least, now, we know that you are safe, and hopefully we can keep it that way."

Christine blushed at her outburst, nervously toeing the cobblestone street under her feet. "Oh…well, then… Have you seen any sign of the Vizier or his henchmen?"

"Unfortunately, no." Nadir shook his head. "And I don't know if I should feel relieved or anxious about it. Hopefully, if they do not know where we are already, it will stay that way until Erik is healed. I would hate to think of what they would be able to do if they find him in such a weakened state…"

"They won't find him." Christine tried to sound optimistic. "Everything will turn out for the best, Nadir. You'll see."

"I hope so, child. I sincerely do."

"I need to be getting back to Rosie before she worries. Will you be going to the Opera House?"

Nadir pondered the situation, then shook his head. "Not yet. If no one else knows Erik is at the Opera House, then a foreigner asking for admittance will draw unwanted attention. If the Vizier's men know of my whereabouts, then I risk leading them right to Erik. Have Erik wait there until he's healed, and then we'll arrange a place to meet after that."

"Then what?"

Nadir looked troubled. "It's hard to tell. I suppose it all depends on whether the Vizier's made the first move, and it would be in our best interests that we don't give him that opportunity. Take care from here on out, Christine Daaé. Paris may be the City of Lights, but it only makes the shadows that much darker."

Christine left Nadir, disappearing into the crowd of bustling Parisians and back to the vendors where she had last left Rosie. Thankfully, to woman hadn't gotten very far, due mostly to her old age, but that did not mean she was in a certain state of frenzy when Christine finally caught up to her. "Child! Where in the world have you been?"

"I'm sorry, Rosie. I thought I saw some strawberries in a cart a while back, but I got lost in the crowd. I didn't mean to frighten you."

_God, if I am to burn for anything, it will be for lying to this sweet old woman who does nothing but worry about my well being._

Rosie smiled, her anxiety fading, but not disappearing completely. "Strawberries? And here I thought you were too old for a sweet tooth. If I had the money, I would gladly get you some. And for you alone dear! None of this nonsense of sharing with your cousins."

"It's alright, Rosie. I wouldn't want you spending your money on me, anyway."

The old woman smiled. "But you're worth it, my dear. If I had the money to send you away from this place, and promise you a happy life, I would do it in a heartbeat. Now, what do you say we get home so I can start dinner?"

Christine walked with Rosie back to her aunt's and uncle's townhouse, but as soon as the old woman was situated in the kitchen and began to prepare dinner for her family, Christine was out of the house again, this time alone, as she made her way to the Opera House. The sun was beginning to set in the west, the sky beginning to show the rosy reds and deep golds of dusk. The streets were thinning of people as residents headed home for the evening, giving Christine clear passage as she made her way through Paris. All too soon, the great Paris Opera House was looming above her, but not looking quite so foreboding as the other night. In fact, the mammoth building looked almost hospitable in contrast, as though it were welcoming her home.

_As though I should be so surprised._ Christine thought with a smile as she climbed the steps towards the front doors. _Because wherever Erik is…is home._

Taking a deep breath, Christine took hold of the door handles of the Opera House entrance, and pulled. The great door swung slowly open, and she slipped inside.

The sight before her stole all the breath from Christine's lungs, her heart leaping to her throat. Never before had Christine seen such beauty in a man-made structure. Persia had been exotic, yes, but there was such elegance, such radiance of the Opera House that of it seemed to be glowing with its own light, reflecting warmly off the gold and creamy marble that covered every square inch of the grand foyer. The great staircase swept up before her to the upper levels, flanked by golden baroque statues that stood like silent sentinels. Christine could do little more than stare in silent awe, utterly speechless and completely unaware of any activity around her until an unknown voice broke through the fog of her amazement.

"May we help you, mademoiselle?"

Christine came back to reality with a bump, turning in surprise to the voice that had spoken to her. Two older men in expensive suits stood behind her; the taller one had a thick mustache and wore a top hat, the shorter man had graying hair and the expression of a surprised rodent. Christine's mouth worked for a moment, but no words came forth. Realizing that she could ruin everything right then, Christine collected herself, straightening her composure and looking at the two men in the eye. "My name is Christine…DeBois. I am Madame's Giry's niece. She should be expecting me."

The two men exchanged questioning glances before looking back at her. "She has not told us of this."

"That is why just because I work for you, I have no obligation to tell you every little aspect of my life, including when it concerns visiting family." A stern voice caught their attention, making Christine jump in spite of herself. Madame Giry strode up to them, every inch of her being radiating dignity and complete control of the situation in her traditional matron's black, her dark hair pulled behind her hair in a tight, immaculate bun. She placed a bony hand on Christine's shoulder, pulling her close in a protective, if not firm hold, making it clear to the two men that Christine was not going anywhere. "She has had a long journey, and I'm sure that she's more than willing to be able to rest, so if you'll excuse me, Monsieur Firman, Monsieur Andre." Before the two men had a chance to say anything else, Madame Giry was leading Christine away, steering her in the direction of the backstage area of the Opera House.

"Buffoons, the both of them." The older woman muttered as Christine was lead through a maze of passageways tangled with timber beams and bits of scenery and props from the various Operas the theater presented. Although the Opera House was much more well-lit then the night Christine had first come there, she still felt hopelessly lost and small in such a closely-confined space. "They could not tell a horse's head from it's rump even if they were both looking at it…"

"Who were they?" Christine asked as the struggled to keep up with the Madame's rigorous pace.

"Monsieur Firman and Andre? The managers of the Opera House. Or, should I say, the _new_ managers of the Opera House. Ever since they came to charge, I've been holding this place together with my teeth. They care more for their money than for the art of the Opera and the ballet."

The ballet mistress was in a bad mood, her unmasked irritation for whatever unknown reason radiating off her like the heat from an oven. "Madame… Is something the matter?"

Madame Giry paused abruptly in her stride, nearly causing Christine to collide into her. "It's your _friend_, Mademoiselle. He's proving to be rather…troublesome since he awoke when you first arrived."

Christine frowned. "Erik? What's wrong with him?"

"Nothing's wrong! That's the problem!" The ballet mistress snapped irritably. "I can't convince him to stay put… Ever since he woke, he's been as restless as a hyperactive child. He's jeopardizing the whole reason why he's hiding here in the first place!"

Although Christine knew that she should have been alarmed by Erik's irrational behavior, she could not help but smile. She had to admit, she could not be surprised. "Oh? What's he been doing?"

Christine's question was not answered by Madame Giry, but rather by a chorus of high-pitched screams that resonated from the direction of the main stage, followed by a stampede of a dozen or so ballerinas who came charging into the backstage area, each one looking like they had seen…

"A ghost!" They all squealed. "It was him!"

"Girls!" Madame Giry scolded them, looking appalled. "What is the meaning of this behavior?"

A petite girl with bouncing blonde locks giggled and ran behind Christine as though she were a shield, looking more excited then frightened then her companions. "It was the ghost, Mama! The Opera Ghost!"

Madame Giry sighed, rolling her eyes, and Christine could not help but laugh. It looked as though Erik had found a way to bide his time.


	18. Chapter 14: Tales of the Opera Ghost

**Author's Note:** I have returned. Not from the dead, but rather from a horrible case of writer's block. I could not, for the life of me, figure out how to start this chapter, and trust me, I made several attempts that just went no where. Then finally, something worked out, and as expected, the chapter came forward rather smoothly after that. If it were only that easy more often.

Keep in mind as you read this that the fic is going to take a darker turn from here on out, and while I don't feel the need for the rating to be increased, this story is definitely going to loose some of its previous innocence. A little bit of foul language will creep in here and there later on, so be wary of it if you are offended by such material.

For my readers who feared that Erik was becoming too soft in the past couple of chapters, I dedicate this one to you.

I would also like to thank everyone for sticking with me for so long despite the length of time it takes me to update. I hope you enjoy the chapter. I had fun writing it.

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Tales of the Opera Ghost**

Ever since Christine came to live at her aunt's townhouse after her father died, she had completely lost sense of what a home felt like. When she dared to brave her memories and remember the small home that she and her father had once shared, she recalled a sense of warmth, security, and a definite worn, lived-in feeling that gave a house all the qualities it needed to be a home. And the music… The pure, unrefined magic of music that was worked into every plank of wood in the walls, every brick of the hearth, every fiber of the worn rugs and bedclothes.

When Christine was sent to live with her aunt and cousins in Paris, however, all of that had been lost. Gone was the warmth and the gentleness, replaced by the rigid world of the upper crust where the old and worn were quickly replaced by new and unfeeling pieces of furniture and rugs and paint, and any trace of the dust of time removed from the marble mantel and crystal vases. But the worse thing about her aunt's house was the silence; the complete and total lack of music that made the whole house as horribly quiet as a tomb. As the years went by, Christine felt her own soul grow cold and tarnished, her passion for music and life waning away as she was held a prisoner in her family's world. It was not until she met Erik in Persia that she was reminded of her musical heritage. He had re-awoken her forgotten love of music and had made her feel more alive than she had been since her father died.

It was not until she entered the Opera House that she felt as though she were truly home again. If her father's house had a homely glow of musical magic, then the Opera House was absolutely radiant with it. It was a whole other world, as foreign and fantastic as Persia had been. Everywhere Christine looked there was something new to behold, whether it was the rainbow of costumes and masks, the fabulous backdrops and props, or the enchanting dancing of the practicing ballerinas or the music of the rehearsing chorus. Unlike Persia, however, this was a world that Christine felt as though she was already a part of, that it was the world she was meant to be born into.

Surprisingly, no one questioned her presence at the Opera House. For as much gossip that passed among the corps du ballet to the opera chorus to the stagehands (in only the first few days Christine had learned more about certain unnamed people than she had ever cared to know), she virtually went unnoticed, and was generally accepted as Madame Giry's niece. She was ever permitted to watch the rehearsals of the Opera House's opening opera, just so long as she stayed out of the way. And since her own aunt was still convinced that she was working as the Opera House, Christine was free to come and go both ways as she pleased. The only other person who knew better was Madame Giry's young daughter, Meg, who for all her curiosity obeyed her mother when she was told to not inquire about Christine's real business at the Opera House. Still, the energetic blonde seemed delighted in pretending that Christine was really her cousin, and seemed more interested in the gossip that was closer at hand and, coincidently, would not earn her the wrath of her mother. And, in all honesty, there were times that Christine wished that Meg was her real cousin by blood rather than Giselle or Nicola.

When it came to dealing with Erik, however… Well, that was another matter all together.

To say that Erik did not share the same awe that Christine did would have been an understatment. As he waited for his body to heal and his strength to return, he became increasingly restless and impatient. The free reign that he had in Persia was gone, and he was forced to stay confined to the shadows and out of sight of the multitudes of people who worked and resided within the Opera House. Trying to spend time with him as Christine had intended to had turned out to be more difficult that she expected. It seemed that there was not a place in the entire Opera House that a stagehand or a couple of giggly ballerinas did not wander into at one time or another, and the most secure places they were able to find earned Christine some off and questioning looks from the stagehands when she emerged from her last meeting with Erik.

It became evident that if the staff and cast thought that she was getting into something that she did not belong in then it would give them cause to look for Erik…or, worse, find him while they were in one of their meetings. So, the secret lovers had no choice but to meet only during those few secluded windows of opportunities where they knew they would be completely alone. Unfortunately, those times were few and far between, and it was something that Erik was less than happy about. For someone who was used to doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, Christine could only imagine his frustration when he was being confined by rules that forced him to stay out of sight of anyone other than Christine and Madame Giry.

Their situation had been by no means any easier for Christine. After a year of missing him, longing for him, Erik had finally returned to her, but in the light of their situation – not only hiding his presence of the staff of the Opera House, but also from the Grand Vizier and his loyal followers, who were still looking for Erik after his flight from Persia – she was not allowed to see him as she pleased. It killed her on the inside, knowing that they were in the same building together – sometimes even in the same room, such as when she was on the main stage of the Opera House – and she could not even look in his direction without giving him away. She longed for the times they once had together back in Persia; the music lessons, the secret meetings in the enchanted gardens… Here, they had none of that, not even when they were in the heart of all the music and culture of all Paris. Even now, while Christine watched the rehearsals for the newest Opera from the shelter of the enormous red-velvet curtains, she could sense Erik lurking in the shadows somewhere above, his tension and irritation making the open air between them as electrical as an approaching thunderstorm. During her short time at the Opera House, Christine had come to learn that this meant only one thing, and while the results were amusing in the end, the anticipation of what he exactly had in mind always made dread coil in Christine's belly like a snake.

Rehearsals were almost over for the day, the chorus and corps de ballet finishing up their last remaining segments before retiring for the night. The Opera House's prima donna, La Carlotta Giudicelli, was performing the finishing touches on that day's section of an aria. Christine winced as the singer hit a particularly high note, and not necessarily the one right pitch that she was supposed to be aiming for. While Christine was thoroughly enchanted by every aspect of the Opera House, down to the smallest detail, she had no shame in silently admitting that the Opera's prima donna left something to be desired in the overall scheme of things.

_A big something_, Christine thought with an inward grimace as the flamboyant Italian woman sang another note, this time of higher pitch than the one before, but still only managing to achieve one several tones below and a full sharp off. She could only imagine what Erik was going through while he listened to the woman sing. He had already expressed his extreme dislike for the prima donna more than several times over, proclaiming that a wounded cat in heat could produce more appeasing notes than La Carlotta could ever hope to achieve in her life. She could almost hear him grinding his teeth as he watched from the catwalks.

"Brava, brava m'dear!" One of the managers – Firman, if Christine could remember correctly, she didn't see either of the managers too terribly often while she was at the Opera – applauded the prima donna as they entered the main stage, brushing by Christine as though she were nothing more than a shadow clinging to the curtains. "You positively sound more enchanting with each passing day!"

Christine resisted the urge to roll her eyes, and on the far end of the stage, she could see Madame Giry bristling with silent annoyance at the manager's gross flattery of their prima donna. There was a time, Christine was sure, when La Carlotta was an inspiring Opera singer, that there had been true potential and talent in her voice, but over the years it had become overshadowed by her swelling ego and by the hoards of loyal admirers who no longer cared about how she sounded when she sang, just so long that she kept singing to appease her loyal crowd. She remembered Madame Giry stating on numerous occasions that if it had been anyone other than Monsieur Andre and Firman who had assumed the position of Opera House managers when Monsieur Lefevre retired, then La Carlotta would have been retired with him. All the new managers cared about was that La Carlotta kept brining in the money, and as long as they were a steady stream of capital coming into the Opera, then there was no need to induce any changes regardless that bringing in a new prima donna – no matter who it was - would vastly improve the performances by musical talent.

"Splendid rehearsal if I must say so myself!" Monsieur Andre was agreeing with his partner, although it was clearly evident to anyone standing on the stage that the rehearsal had been anything but. "The opening night is but two weeks away, but I have a feeling that this will be our best season yet!"

_Regardless that this would be their first season at the Opera House_, Christine could almost hear Madame Giry say. Fortunately, no one else seemed to agree with the man. One of those people being La Carlotta herself.

"Splendid, you say?" she challenged, stepping up towards the two men who seemed to quail before the woman, who was suddenly larger-than-life in her lavish, albeit half-completed costume. "'ow can you call this 'splendid'? Are you both blind? 'ze chorus is 'orrible! They do nothin' for me during the aria, nothin' at all! An' my costume should be finished by now, but someone keeps ruinin' the work on the trim! My part? Nothin' more than a disaster from day one, and you call it _splendid?"_

This went on for some time, and the managers continued to bow and scrape to the prima donna's every whim. Of course, the only things she had to complain about were things that were not serving her in the long run. Never mind that the backgrounds were still unfinished, the ballerina costumes un-mended and half the stagehands were already stone-drunk despite it was still early in the evening and rehearsals were still underway. If their prima donna was unhappy, then it became the only concern of the managers until she was happy again. Because everyone knew that when La Carlotta was unhappy, then she had no objections of walking out during her hissy fit, threatening to withdraw from the production until all her demands were met. This left Madame Giry and the conductor, Monsieur Reyer, completely in charge of everything else that needed to be improved before the opening night.

_It's a shame too,_ Christine thought dejectedly as she watched the managers attempting to calm down the Italian woman as she burst out into painfully fake tears. _The Opera House should be about everyone working together as a whole so the Opera can be at its best, not conforming to the wants and needs of a spoiled prima donna_.

Finally, after another five minutes of squabbling and great gulping sobs, the managers were at last able to appease the prima donna by continuing to flatter her with the greatness and beauty of her voice, saying that they Opera would be nothing without her. Carlotta's ego was too great to be able to cry this off, and she was immediately all smiles once more as the managers convinced her to sing the current aria for them so they might flatter her some more. She pretended to humbly oblige to their request, and Christine prepared herself for the worse as La Carlotta took the center stage and began to sing the aria of Chalumeau's production of _Hannibal._

Carlotta began to sing to solo aria, a normally beautiful song that was grossly overcompensated in every way possible. At least Christine was not the only one who was wincing at every note that was missed or overdone; Madame Giry was doing her best to keep the ballerinas from giggling aloud with each new abomination, and the managers looked to be in physical pain to hold the fake smiles on their faces, doing their best to pretend like they were enjoying their prima donna's singing. No one would dare make a comment against her; they would never find another prima donna in time for the opening night.

One person, however, did not seem to share the same opinion.

A strange sound caught Christine's attention from high in the flies above; a high-pitched whine that she could not place and no one else seemed to notice or care about. But it did not go unnoticed for very long, for with a great crash, a backdrop came collapsing to the stage from above, sending everyone on stage screaming and scattering in all directions. The only one who was unable to get out of harm's way in time was La Carlotta, who, thanks to the bulkiness of her unfinished costume was unable to get out of the way of the fallen backdrop and ended up trapped, squealing in fear underneath the massive weight of the canvas. With twin cries of surprise, the two managers rushed forward to free their trapped diva from under the backdrop while the ballerinas fluttered about like a flock of frightened birds in the commotion, chattering wildly amongst themselves, half in fear and half in excitement.

"He's here! The Opera Ghost is here!"

Christine looked up into the flies, straining to see through the gloom of the rafters, and sure enough she saw a shadow shift, too graceful and too silent to be a stage hand, peering down at the stage as she continued to stare up at him, feeling a shiver ran down her spine when, for a brief moment, their eyes met. Then the shadow was gone, vanished into the darkness with only the echo of malicious laughter the only reminder that he was there at all.

Back on the stage, Messieurs Andre and Firman had managed to free Carlotta from under the fallen backdrop, but instead of saying any word of thanks to the managers she rounded on both in a fury. "This is the third time something like this 'appened this month!" she shouted, earning the attention of everyone on the main stage and making the managers quail under her rage. "I don't a-care if it is a ghost or not, if you don' take care of this, you can a-find yourselves a new diva!" Without waiting for their response, Carlotta hiked up her skirts and stalked off the stage, the two managers left groveling in her wake.

From down in the orchestra pit, Monsieur Reyer rubbed his temples, warding off the inevitable headache he was sure to have after the whole display on the stage. "Very well, Messieurs and Mademoiselles, I suppose this means we should retire for the evening. Be sure to be back bright and early tomorrow morning so we can pick up where we left off." Under his breath, Christine could here Monsieur Reyer muttering his frustrations over the whole ordeal of that day's rehearsal. He proceeded to gather up the scores of the orchestra as the ballerinas and chorus and stage hands filed off the stage, still talking adamantly about the latest incident regarding the Opera Ghost. Madame Giry was ushering her ballerinas off the stage, but before she disappeared behind the curtains, she shot a pointed look at Christine, her expression warning her of her own vexation of Erik's actions. Finally, only Christine was left alone on the great Opera stage, facing the sea of plush, red-velvet chairs.

High above, Christine heard the flapping of great wings, and Erik dropped down from the flies, as silently as though he were a real ghost, landing on the stage behind her without making so much as a plank of wood creak under his weight. Christine turned around to face him, a smile lighting her face as it always did when she saw him, only now it was not as bright as it usually was. "That wasn't nice." She chided softly, watching Erik step over the crumpled backdrop he had dropped on Carlotta.

"Please. If I had to listen to one more moment of that cow's braying my ears would have burst."

"You could have hurt someone."

"Yes, well, unfortunately that did not happen."

Christine threw her hands into the air, turning away from the masked man. "You're horrible, you know that?" Then she became somber, remembering the look Madame Giry had given her not more than a few minutes before. "I know you're restless, Erik, but you can't keep doing this. Frightening the ballerinas and stage hands isn't that bad, but dropping scenery on the diva? People are beginning to get suspicious, and sooner or later, they're going to come looking for you. Besides, think of what Madame Giry's risking to keep you here. Where else would you go with the Vizier still after you?"

Erik's talon-like hands ere suddenly on her shoulders before she realized he was there. She could feel the warmth of his chest on her back as he pulled her close, molding her body against his. Christine could not suppress the shiver that ran through her at the closeness between them. "Forgive me." His breath was warm against her ear. "You're right. My impatience is getting the better of me. But we only need to wait a little while longer, then we'll both be free of our cages." He paused then, as though in thought, before continuing. "It's a shame, though, that we don't have more time here. A few more tricks here and there, and I'm sure that toad would keep her promise and the Opera House would be short a diva. It would be…so easy…for you to take her place."

Christine gasped as she felt Erik's teeth graze against her ear, his hands splayed across her stomach. "Just imagine it, Christine. You, alone on this stage, with every eye and ounce of attention in the audience on you and you alone. Your voice would make you a legend across Europe, and people would travel from all corners of the world just to hear you sing. You would be an angel in their eyes, a goddess. Everyone would love you, not only for your voice, but for your beauty as well…"

Christine shook her head. "You flatter me too much, Erik. I would never have the fame as La Carlotta, and I'm too plain to be admired for anything else."

"How wrong you are." Erik chuckled darkly, and this time, Christine could not suppress the shiver that ran through her. "I do not think you are aware of the woman you've become since you left Persia…" Erik's hands began to move now, one hand drifting down to her hip, tracing the graceful curve with his fingers, while his other hand moved upwards at a painfully slow pace, and Christine's breath caught when she felt Erik's knuckles grazed the under-side swell of her breasts as though he corset was not there.

Christine's eyes drifted shut as the Opera House faded away as she slipped away from reality. Nothing mattered anymore; there was only Erik. Erik's body pressed against hers, Erik's scent filling her senses, Erik's hands roaming her body… Her head fell against his shoulder, and a sigh that could have been mistaken as a moan escaped her throat as a tidal wave of new emotions washed over her, thrilling and frightening her at the same time. Her knees became dangerously weak as Erik nuzzled her hair away from her ear. His mask was cold against her skin, but not in an entirely unpleasant way. His dark, sensual voice filled her soul, making her heart flutter in her chest like a caged bird, begging to be released. "But none of them can have you. You are my angel, and mine alone."

"Yes… Always…" Was that her voice? That seductive purr? Christine felt detached from her body and another woman had taken her place, one that only emerged when she was with Erik. But she did not mind. In fact, she welcomed these new feelings and sensations with open arms, relishing in the way Erik's touch could make her body tingle in its wake. It would have been so easy to slip into his darkness and never return, damn the consequences…

"Oiy! Who's out there?"

At the sound of the gruff, unknown voice, the spell was broken and Erik was gone, dropping Christine unpleasantly back into reality. A stage hand staggered out of the curtains; a squat, balding man with a stained shirt and several day's worth of unshaved stubble clinging to his wide jaw. Christine stiffened at the sight of him. She had seen this man before, and he was the last one she would want to be alone with on the empty stage. Joseph Bouquet was a lowly, detestable man who was drunk far more often then he was sober, and was often caught peering in on the ballet and chorus girls in their dressing rooms. Christine stood straight-backed with a set jaw as Bouquet staggered towards her, his watery eyes squinted as the forced to focus on her. "And just who might you be, love?" He slurred. The reek of alcohol washed over her, making Christine's stomach lurch.

"I was just leaving." Christine said stiffly, not bothering to dignify him with the answer. "Good day, Monsieur."

"Well, then, 'ow about you have ol' Joseph Bouquet escort ye home? There are many shady characters roaming the streets this time of night. You don' want anything to happen to that pretty little face of yours, mm?" The two piggy eyes roamed over Christine's body, and she suddenly felt dirty, as though someone had doused her with dirty oil.

"I'll be just fine on my own, thank you." She replied curtly as she walked passed him, mindful to keep her distance. It was difficult to not run from his lingering eyes, which she was sure were planted right on her backside, determined not to look back to avoid giving him any incentive to follow.

There was one thing she was certain of, though. Erik was still watching, and if he was as protective of her as he lead on to be, he would not be happy of the events that took place on the stage below. She only prayed that for this one time, his tempter would not get the better of him.

-x-x-x-

Joseph Bouquet licked his thin, cracked lips as the saucy little bird he found alone on the stage disappeared behind the curtains, the luscious sway of her hips freshly embedded in his memory. He had seen the tart about the Opera House over the past few weeks – she was Giry's visiting niece, if he remembered correctly, but the haze of alcohol made it difficult – but tonight was the first time he was able to get a good look at her. And what a prize she was! The sweet face of an angel, the neck of a swan, long dark hair that curled perfectly around her shoulders, and although her breasts were not as large as he liked them to be on women, he imagined that they would still feel heavenly in his hands. Bouquet groaned, feeling himself harden at the thought.

Of course, a pretty little chickadee like her would never let him get close enough for him to know for sure. No, the pretty ones never did. It did not matter, though; he had ways of getting around that. With the image of her face implanted fresh in his mind, it would be easy enough to place it on any two-penny whore he paid for that night, imagining that it was her perfect flesh that writhed and cried out for him rather than the dried-up cow that he was fucking. He felt his groin give another throb of need, his pants suddenly painfully small. There was way around it, now. He had to find release, and quick, before he lost control right then and there. The managers had been less than happy with him the last time that happened. With a lustful grin on his face, Bouquet proceeded off the stage, looking forward to the events that were soon to take place in the alley behind the Opera House.

Bouquet was so involved with the promise of having a nice long fuck with one of his regular whores – or a satisfying quick one, which seemed to be the more likely of the two at way things were going – that he was completely unaware of the coil of rope that lay passively on the polished stage until it was too late. As soon as his foot was inside the loop, there was a snap that resonated like a gunshot through the auditorium, and before Bouquet could register was that happening, he was suddenly swept violently off his feet and swung upside down, dangling thirty feet above the main stage. When he was finally able to grasp what was happening, he opened his mouth the scream when a terrible pain erupted through his scalp, killing the sound in his throat immediately. Mary and Christ, it felt like claws had gotten hold of him! Then the claws twisted, and this time nothing could stop the scream of terror.

The face of Death snarled back at him from the shadows, the grotesque pale skin pulled taught over the bones in its rage, the golden eyes blazing like the fires of hell. With a harsh tug it pulled Bouquet closer to its terrible visage, and when it spoke its voice was like the thunder of a tempest, drowning out all other sounds in the world. "Hear me, and hear me well, Joseph Bouquet. If I ever see you even looking at any of the girls within the Opera House again, I will personally remove your means to be useful to your whores ever again. Do you understand me?"

Joseph Bouquet's mouth hung open stupidly, his eyes wild with fear. The stiffness in his groin vanished immediately, replaced only be the hot wash of urine as he pissed himself in his terror.

"Do you understand me, you worthless piece of scum?" The face of Death demanded, shaking the terrified man by the roots of his hair.

Bouquet nodded hastily, but somehow managed to stammer out, "Wh-wh-what are you?"

The face sneered, a horrible smile further emphasized by the gaping hole where the nose should have been and the pulsing blue veins that spider-webbed across the forehead. "I am the Angel of Death, Monsieur. It would serve you well to remember it."

Then he was falling, plummeting back down towards the stage at a frightening speed, fast enough to break his neck and shatter all his bones upon impact. But at the last moment the rope snapped, still dumping Bouquet harshly on the floor but not hard enough to actually harm him too badly. For several long moments Bouquet just lay in a crumpled heap on the stage, taking in deep gulps of air like a beached fish. Then he was on his feet in an instant, fleeing from the Opera House as the laughter of the Devil himself chased him down the street.

-x-x-x-

"I have seen him! I have seen the Opera Ghost!"

Despite his best efforts to rally people to his plight, he was only met by laughter from the rest of the pub. In his panic from coming face-to-face with the infamous Opera Ghost, who up until that moment had only been a legend used to scare the ballerinas into obedience, he ran to the nearest pub where he knew his fellow stage-hands went after a day of rehearsals, bursting through the doors and screaming like a madman of the creature in the flies that threatened his life.

"Telling stories again, are you, Bouquet?" A man laughed, taking a deep drink from his tankard as the whore on his arm sniggered like a hyena. "Save it for the ballet rats, you won't be scarin' any of us into your bed."

"I'm not telling stories!" Bouquet roared, his paunchy face red and molted in his rage. "I saw him, with my own two eyes! Yellow parchment for skin! He had only had a black hole in place of his nose! It was a demon, I tell you, the incarnate of the devil himself! Stop that ruddy laughing! He has marked me for death, and all you can do is sit there mock me!"

By that time, everyone had stopped paying attention and returned to their previous activities. Bouquet blistered. "If any of you blokes won't believe me, then who the bloody hell will?"

A hand on his shoulder caught his attention, and when the stage-hand turned, he found himself staring up into the face of the strangest sort of man he had ever seen. The dark skin of the man was deeply lined with age, his beard grey, but the jade-green eyes burned with the fervor of an anxious young warrior. A Muslin, Bouquet noted, judging by the foreign nature of the man's clothing and the turban wrapped around his head. "What the bloody hell do you want?" The raging man slurred.

"Excuse my intrusion, sir." The Muslim's voice was dark and smooth, like the finest brandy, thickly accented with his own native language. He spoke softly, but there was something just underneath his tone that demanded Bouquet's complete attention and cooperation. He offered Joseph a tight smile. "I am willing to believe you. Now, tell me more about this Opera Ghost."

-x-x-x-

**Author's Note:** Whew, this was a fun one to write. But I think there are some things that I would like to explain regarding the content of this chapter.

As I stated before, it should be obvious by now that the story is moving away from its previous innocent disposition and is becoming increasingly darker and more series, and will continue to be this way from now until the end of the story. One of the main reasons for this reflects Christine's coming of age, as she has finally moved out of the last stage of childhood and is becoming more of an adult, and this is a feature that Erik does not miss. I will not increase this story's rating to M, however, because there will be no sexual content in this story.

Joseph Bouquet was fun to write, I will admit that, even though I never planned on adding him into the story to begin with. I was torn when it came to writing from his POV, though; do I keep the content clean, and follow the original flow of the story (there were a couple of words I was really reluctant to put in there, trust me), but I felt that if I didn't, I would be betraying the character. So, the latter won out. I just hope it didn't disrupt the flow too badly.

Putting Bouquet in the story actually ended up benefiting it in the end. Not only is it going back to its original Phantom roots, but it also reminded not only the readers, but also myself, one important thing about Erik's character: even though he has the love of Christine, he still has that streak of darkness running through him. He's still Erik, no matter what.

I'm done talking now. Until next time.


	19. Chapter Fifteen: Fallen Angels

**Author's Note:** Hello once again. I tried to make a fairly speedy update this time around, and I think I might have achieved it. Hey, it was less than four months, and that's a heck of an improvement in my book. Once again, I want to thank you all for sticking with me for so long.

Be warned, though, to those who dislike dark stories, the next couple chapters of this fic will become darker in the time that follows. I know exactly where the plot is going, as I had for months before I even reached this part, and therefore it will not be changed. Please, use discretion on whether you want to continue on from here on out or not.

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Fallen Angels**

In the final week before the opening gala the Paris Opera House was a sight of unimaginable chaos as the performers and staff made their frantic last-minute preparations. It was almost surreal, this level of disorganization as Christine had never seen before, an unrepressed maelstrom of unfinished costumes and backdrops amongst a sea of props and an army of frazzled ballerinas, chorus singers and stagehands. Christine was no longer allowed to sit and watch the rehearsals from on the stage, not because she was told so by Madame Giry or anyone else involved in the Opera, but simply because she was too afraid of being trampled by anyone in their frenzied rush to get everything done by the opening night. This also made it exceptionally hard to spend any time alone with Erik, as there always seemed to be somebody somewhere in the whole Opera Populaire, looking for this or that that might have been needed for the production, regardless if it was actually needed or not. Erik was confined to the furthest corners of the Opera House, his temper and impatience growing by the day, and despite Christine's warning or concerns, she knew it would only be a matter of time before he would make his presence of the Opera Ghost known again.

Erik had already come dangerously close to exposing this secret when Joseph Bouquet had wandered onto the stage all those weeks ago. Although Christine had been sure that the drunken stagehand had not seen Erik during their – for lack of a better word – _sensuous _rendezvous on the stage, the next day he had been ranting and raving about and angel from hell, wearing the guise of the Opera Ghost, who had marked Bouquet for death. Granted, no one in the Opera House save the ballerinas took the man seriously, but both Christine and Madame Giry were particularly distressed that there could have been someone else in the Opera Populaire who knew of Erik's existence, even if no one else believed the drunkard.

Still, there was still an uncomfortable amount of gossip circulating between all the members of the cast; stories that Christine knew were seeping into the pubs that the stagehands often frequented once rehearsals were done for the day. That, perhaps, was what worried her most of all. How long would it be before one of the Vizier's henchmen were at the right place at the right time, and happened to overhear one of the other men who worked at the Opera House reciting Bouquet's stories?

Christine had confronted Erik, more than once and for as much time as they were allowed, about his harassment of Joseph Bouquet. To her frustration, Erik was his usual nonchalant self, merely shrugging away her concern with Bouquet's ramblings, saying that the drunkard was lucky that Erik didn't kill him for gawking at Christine as though she were a common street whore. Christine was still too wrought with anxiety to feel flattered with Erik's protectiveness, and his attitude did nothing but twist angry knots in her stomach. As much as she loved the masked magician, there were times when his stubbornness got the best of even her.

All of the events that had happened in the last couple of days mulled about in Christine's head as she sat in one of the very corner chairs of the Opera Populaire auditorium during one of the final dress rehearsals of the week, completely ignored by the bustle of performers and stagehands on the stage while she in turn ignored the squabbling of the ballerinas and chorus and the abhorred squawking of Carlotta. Coming to the Opera Populaire held little refuge for her anymore, but it was still better than spending the days at her aunt's townhouse. At least here she had the peace to try to come up with some way to keep Erik under control without the risk of Giselle or any of her other cousins bothering her.

There was still one thing that could interrupt Christine's train of thought, and that was Carlotta's temper tantrums, which was exactly she had when Monsieur Reyer informed her that her aria in the second act was far too long, and it was throwing off the timing of the ballerinas that would be on stage with her at the time. Christine rolled her eyes as Carlotta went into another fit, claiming that no one appreciated her talents and therefore, there was no reason for her to be staying within the performance. This, in turn, got the managers fired up, trying to calm her down through exaggerated flattery and the promise of expensive gifts and praise if stayed, as well as telling Reyer that the aria was the perfect length, and they would keep it as it was. Christine groaned inwardly. She had always thought that Giselle had been the most spoiled girl in France, but compared to Carlotta, her cousin looked like a begger's child.

"I can't believe this!"

The sudden sound of a small, delicate voice made Christine look up towards the stage. Meg Giry, the petite, blonde daughter of Madame Giry and the prima ballerina of the troupe had broken away from the other girls as Madame Giry gave them the permission to take a break, and was now perched on the edge of the grand stage, looking down at Christine as she spoke. It was unmistakable that the younger girl was upset, but she still looked absolutely adorable as she pouted, her delicate brow knitted together. "It's not fair!" She continued, sitting down on the edge of the stage with her legs hanging over the side. "Our role in the opera is just every bit important as Carlotta's, and yet we're always the first to suffer! And when the patrons say that the dancing was a mess, guess who's the first to get blamed?"

Christine looked up at her friend with a sympathetic smile. "People know real talent when they see it, Meg. Just because Mousiers Firman and Andre will flatter her until she's only bones and dust does not mean everyone else in Paris will feel the same way. You just do your best when the opera opens. Things will turn out for the better for you, I just know it."

Meg smiled back down at Christine, her eyes brightening at her friend's encouraging words. "You're too sweet, you know that, Christine? You should be the one up here with us, not her."

Christine laughed, albeit a little nervously. "And what makes you say that?"

"Oh, don't be so modest, Christine DeBois. I've heard you singing when you think no one else is listening. You're a hundred times better than Carlotta. A thousand times, even! Why, if they were to hear the toad that she really is I'm sure they would replace her with you in a heartbeat!"

Throughout the entire morning she had suspected Erik was close by – she could almost hear his teeth grinding together whenever Carlotta was singing – but there was something about what Meg said that made Christine's stomach turn over, as though she had just given Erik a very good suggestion. _Maybe he didn't hear it_, Christine tried to reassure herself, trying her best to hide her anxiety from her friend, but when she was certain she heard a low, ominous laugh from somewhere behind the curtains, she knew that the damage had already been done.

"Christine? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost." Suddenly Meg's face lit up in a wide grin. "Was it the Opera Ghost? Have you seen him too?"

"Meg, I need to see your mother. Where is she?"

Meg tilted her head to the side, thoroughly puzzled. "She's talking to Monsieur Reyer. Why? What's wrong, Christine?"

Christine knew she was going to have to owe an explanation to Meg, but that would have to wait. She leapt to her feet, dashing across the aisle despite the bulk of her skirts until she reached Madame Giry's side in the orchestra pit, where she was having a heated conversation with the conductor. Both of them were obviously less than pleased with the manager's decision to give Carlotta her lengthy solo, but Christine knew if she did not say something, then the situation was about to get a whole lot worse.

"Madame Giry!" Christine reached out a gave the ballet mistress' sleeve a good tug, drawing the older woman's attention away from Reyer and earning a hard stare from her dark eyes.

"Gracious, child, what is it? Can't you see Monsieur Reyer and I are speaking?"

"Madame Giry, it's Erik!" Christine hissed in a voice that only Madame Giry could hear, and the look of displeasure was immediately placed with alarm at Christine's words. "I think he's going to try something really foolish!" What Christine expected the ballet mistress to do, she did not know. It would be impossible to seek out Erik with so many people on stage, and Christine knew from experience that he had a knack of getting into places that would be all but impossible for Christine to reach. But she felt that if she did not say something to Madame Giry, then whatever it was Erik had planned would only be that much worse. She just prayed that he saw her distress, and that would at least have him thinking twice before unleashing his wrath upon the prima donna again…

"All right, people, back to your places!" Monsieur Andre announced from the stage, holding up his hands in a futile attempt to hail the attention of everyone else. "We have only three more days before the opening gala, so I want to see some improvement before we turn in for the day!"

The only one who looked pleased at the manager's announcement was La Carlotta, who grinned down smugly at Reyer from the stage at her victory. Reyer rolled his eyes, but said nothing. It would have only made matters worse. Instead, he only accepted his defeat with what quiet dignity he had left and stepped back up onto the podium, tapping his baton on this music stand before him to gain the attention of the members of the orchestra. Christine felt her gut knot as Carlotta took center stage as the music started up again, oblivious to the danger that Christine was sure she was in. Madame Giry stood quietly to the side, her face a cold mask of concentration, but her hands twisted nervously on top of her cane, waiting for any sign of Erik's presence. Christine's heart hammered behind her ribs as Carlotta began to sing, but when nothing happened several minutes into the song, she forced herself to relax. Maybe Erik had listened to her and her warnings, and it was just her overactive imagination that told her that he was plotting something against the prima donna. But no matter how many times she told herself that, she had a strong suspicion that her hopes would only be in vein.

The aria that Carlotta sung was, like all the solos before it, a beautiful song that was butchered beyond recognition by the diva's overcompensation of the higher notes. Christine remained tense, her eyes locked on the rafters over the stage. She could see no movement in the shadows, but that did not mean that Erik was not there.

_Please, Erik… Don't do anything that will put you in danger…_

It was not until Carlotta reached the second verse of the song when disaster struck.

…_Think of all the things we've shared and seen – _

_Don't think about the things that might have _cro_-OAK!_

The horrible sound erupted from Carlotta's throat like a shot from a cannon. Everyone on the stage froze in place, all looking as equally confused and horrified as the prima donna. Carlotta's eyes were darting around the stage, as if she was unable to believe that the sound had come from her, but she merely smiled, trying to play off the croaking note as though it had never happened. Christine buried her face in her hands, an overwhelming feeling of defeat crashing down around her.

"I-a must 'ave had something in my throat." Carlotta smiled, but no one else looked convinced even if no one dared to say anything. "Maestro, if you please, from the beginning."

Monsieur Reyer continued to stare up at the diva in disbelief, but at her venomous glare he tapped the baton back on his stand and the music began again. Carlotta drew herself up, hiding her wavering self confidence as she started to sing once more. Christine peaked out from between her fingers, waiting for the next blow to come.

_Think of me, think of me fondly_

_When we've said_ cro-_OAK! _cro-_OAK_! cro-_OAK!_

The series of loud, toad-like croaks emerged from La Carlotta's mouth one after the other, long after the music came to an end, and did not stop until the diva screamed, then broke down crying on the stage, thoroughly humiliated. Christine almost felt sorry for her as she ran from the stage, followed closely by the managers and her assistants. The rest of the cast members were in an uproar. The chorus was raging over the setback that Carlotta's failing voice was going to cause the overall production, and the ballerinas were chattering excitedly amongst themselves that it was another one of the Opera Ghost's tricks.

A sharp crack suddenly cut through the air, causing the ballerinas to cry out in surprise and sending the rest of the stage into silence. Madame Giry stood in the center of the stage, her cane set determinedly in front of her where she had struck the stage with it, her face as dark and dangerous as a thunderhead. "That's enough!" she snapped, gaining full attention of everyone both on- and offstage. She rounded on the ballerinas, who cowered away from their mistress as a group. "I want you lot back in your dormitories this instant, and so help me if I hear a single one of you say another word about the Opera Ghost! The rest of you, get back to getting this place in order for the opening gala! I'll be damned before I see this place go to ruin!"

No one hesitated at the ballet mistress' commands. The ballerinas scurried off stage, not risking so much as a backwards glance at Madame Giry. The stagehands tripped over one another as they rushed to get props and scenes in proper order as the chorus arranged themselves at the far end of the main stage, debating on what song to practice on first. Christine stood off to one side, away from the orchestra pit as the musicians hurriedly tuned their instruments to practice with the chorus, suddenly feeling very alone in the world as she felt, for whatever reason, that this was all her fault. Before she had the chance to leave, Madame Giry rounded on her, and Christine felt as though she had been doused in a bucket of ice water.

"I was hoping that you and your friend would appreciate the sacrifice that I have made for you by allowing both of you to stay here. But it will be a cold, cold day in hell before I let some broken changeling destroy everything I have worked so hard to achieve. I want him out of this Opera House, mademoiselle, and I want him out soon. Do you understand?"

Hot tears stung Christine's eyes as she stared back up at Madame Giry, but she was unable to say anything as she nodded meekly, then turned to leave, walking up the empty aisles of the auditorium alone and forgotten. Before she left, she cast one last glance at the stage, and although he remained out of sight, she could feel her eyes locking with Erik's. Christine only shook her head sadly as she walked through the doors, across the empty foyer and back out onto the streets of Paris as she made her way back to her aunt's house. Erik never made an attempt to stop her.

She wondered if she would have let him if he tried.

-x-x-x-

"This is an outrage!" Monsieur Firman raged as he and his business partner burst into their private office, stripping the gloves from his hands and throwing them down angrily on his lavish oak desk.

"Indeed it is, Richard." Monsieur Andre agreed with an angry huff, taking off his top hat and placing it on top of the coat hanger that stood by the door. "At first I assumed that this so-called Opera Ghost was merely a figment of the imaginations of the ballerinas, but it's clear to us now that is no fairy tale we're dealing with. Perhaps old Joseph Bouquet's stories were correct?"

"Poppycock!" Firman snorted. "This is no specter we're dealing with, Gilles, it's a bloody man who has nothing more to do with his pathetic life than torture our prima donna and drive us into ruin! If we can't convince La Carlotta to come back before the opening gala, we'll be done for!"

Both men sat down behind their respective desks in unified frustration, brows furrowed as they attempted to figure out how to deal with the situation. After a long pause, Andre spoke first. "Why don't we send the stagehands to search the whole of the Opera Populaire? If we are dealing with a man, and not a ghost, then surly they would have to find some trace that the brute was here. There are only so many places one man can hide."

"They did search the Populaire, from top to bottom, and there's no sign of the fiend anywhere." Firman answered with a groan. "And that doesn't include the cellars, or the underground catacombs and river that the men refuse to venture into. Whoever this 'ghost' is, he knows how not to be caught."

"What about the police?"

"Don't be silly, Andre. If our men could not find anything, then why would the police do any better? The stagehands know this Opera House better than their own homes."

"What should we do, then?" Andre asked, his distress showing in his voice. "The gala is in three days, and if this fiend is so intent on not letting it happen, I don't think there's a damned thing we can do to stop him!"

Firman opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp raping on the closed office door cut him off before he could get a single word out. "Oh, for pete's sake, what is it now?" The manager snapped, rising from his desk and throwing the door open. Behind it stood the squat, unclean figure of Joseph Bouquet, who was looking remarkably calm despite the earlier catastrophe on the stage and his triumphant crowing claiming that the Opera Ghost really did exist. He wore a smug grin on his grimy face, as though he knew something the managers did not.

"Well?" Firman demanded. "What do you want?"

"Beggin' your pardons, my good Mousiers, but I couldn' help but overhear yer conversation, and I thought that I might be o' some assistance."

From where he stood in the doorway, Monsieur Andre only snorted. "As though any more of your wild claims about the Opera Ghost will help us. Good day to you, monsieur." As Firman attempted to close the door on Bouquet, the stagehand placed a grubby hand on the doorframe, preventing it to be closed completely.

"I know that my tales from earlier sounded unreasonable, my good sirs, an' I won' be lyin' when I say that no one else cared to believe me. However, there was one gentlemen who not only believed what I had to say, but he also claimed that he would help us with our little problem." Bouquet's greasy smile grew as twin expressions of intrigue appeared on the manager's faces.

"And how would he manage to do that?" Firman demanded, still a little weary at the stagehand's claim.

"Because he says he knows the Opera Ghost…personally."

"_What?"_ Andre exclaimed, his eyes as wide as saucers. "And how might that be possible?"

"Perhaps he should tell you himself." Bouquet slurred, stepping out of the way as a new dark figure appeared in the doorway, sweeping Andre and Firman aside to stand in the middle of the office. Mousiers Andre and Firman gaped silently at the man, having never seen anyone else like him in either of their lives. He was not a tall man, but his presence filled the whole room, and the lights from the oil lamps seemed to have dimmed at his entrance. The man was wrapped head to foot in thick oriental robes, his head swathed in a tall silken turban, showing just a hint of deep olive skin that was well lined with age. When he turned to face Firman and Andre, the air in the room seemed to drop drastically, absorbed by the cold glint in the man's dark eyes.

"Mousiers." The man hissed in greeting, his voice like steel on steel.

"Mousiers Andre and Firman," Bouquet said smoothly, heedless of the unsuppressed shock on the manager's faces. "May I introduce to you the Grand Vizier to the Shah of the Persian Empire. He served in the court of the Shah and his mother, the khanum, along side the Opera Ghost."

"He is no ghost!" The Vizier snapped, making all three men in the room jump. "He is nothing more than a man; a weak, pathetic corpse of a bastard changeling. I can assure you, my good Mousiers, that he will bleed, and he will die, just as anyone else."

"I assume you have some unfinished business with this gho…_man_, monsieur?" Firman asked carefully, not wanting to further agitate the dangerous foreign stranger that stood before him.

"Indeed." The Vizier agreed. Although he spoke flawless French, his native accent was so strong that is was difficult to understand him. "This man – Erik – we have some unfinished business. Imagine my good fortune when I ran into Monsieur Bouquet at the local pub raving about the very same man I was trying to find."

"So… So you're saying that you'll get rid of him?" Andre asked, his voice full of hope.

The Vizier nodded. "It would be my pleasure."

Firman hesitated before adding: "For free?"

The Vizier stared hard at the managers for several moments that felt entirely too long, then grinned shallowly, revealing yellowing teeth. "To see his blood spill, Mousiers, will be the greatest payment I could ever ask for. Now, if Monsieur Bouquet will care to show me where he first saw his Opera Ghost, I will see that he is dead and disposed of before the opening night of your gala."

Before Firman and Andre had the chance to sputter their thanks towards the foreign man, the Grand Vizier of Persia had already swept out of the office with Bouquet close on his heels.

-x-x-x-

"It was right up here, Monsieur." Bouquet said as he and the Grand Vizier walked through the rickety catwalks of the Opera House, suspended fifty feet over the main stage. It was late, and the stage and auditorium was empty of anyone save for the stagehand as he showed the foreign man where he had encountered Erik. "I was on the stage, mindin' my own business, when the fiend lassoed me around the leg and pulled me all the way up here, threatening me very life if I didn' stop gawking at the girls on the stage."

The Vizier walked across the rickety planks of suspended wood with ease, as though they weren't being dangled at such a height above the polished stage. Bouquet had worked in the Opera Populaire for near thirty years, and he still had to hold onto the ropes to maintain his balance, the sheer drop below him making his stomach churn even after all this time. "Tell me, was there any one particular girl he seemed to be protecting?"

Bouquet's face screwed up as he tried to recall exactly what happened that night. He would never admit it to the man, but he was too drunk that night to remember anything clearly before his terrifying encounter with the Opera Ghost. Then a face surfaced on his memory; a sweet angel's face framed by long, curling brunette hair, her delicate features a mask of disgust as he approached her on the stage. "Why, yes actually, there was! Y'see, he never seemed t' have given a rat's ass about any o' the other lasses on stage until I saw one particular one. Pretty little bird, with long 'air and a body that would make any man go hard as a rock as soon as they saw 'er. You know what I mean there, eh, monsieur?" Bouquet added with a wink, his face breaking out into a wide, lecherous grin, but when the Vizier opening sneered at him and his rouse, it was gone quicker than it had appeared.

The Vizier brushed past Bouquet, his face and motives unreadable. "So... It makes sense, now. I should have suspected that he ran to this city in search of _her._"

Bouquet might not have been a smart man, but he still had his primal instincts that told him that the Vizier was plotting something dangerous, and he suddenly wished that he had kept his mouth shut about the girl. Although he did enjoy peering in on the ballerinas as they dressed and the frequent romp with the whores of Paris, he never wished any harm on any of the women, not even after their most harsh rejection of his advancements.

"Monsieur, please…" Bouquet simpered. "The girl has nothing to do with this. I do not know why he was so interested in 'er."

"Oh, but I do." The Vizier hissed, his back still to Bouquet. "You see, my greasy little friend, that particular girl has _everything _to do with this. She's the sole reason why that pathetic changeling went from a mere annoyance, like a pebble in my shoe, to the bane of my whole existence. As long as he has her love, then he has far more power than I ever had in the course of my life. She is the key to that power. If I can break their accursed love, then I can break his soul."

Bouquet swallowed, not bothering to hide his fear of the man any longer. He backed away from the Vizier, trying to put as much distance between him and the man as possible. "And…and how do you manage to do that?"

"The girl seems undaunted by the changeling's death head. But let's see how she favors with the blood of another fresh on his hands."

Before Bouquet had the chance to react, the ropes that surrounded him on all sides snapped to attention as though they had a life of their own, lashing and writhing before they struck at him like a swarm of snakes, wrapping tightly around Bouquet's body, winding around his arms and legs and thick torso, breaking the skin as they tightened their grip. Joseph Bouquet tried to cry out, but another series of ropes wound around his neck, severing his air supply. Within mere seconds he was gasping for oxygen only to find none, his eyes rolling back into his head as the ropes continued to tighten their hold.

"I apologize for this inconvenience, Monsieur. At least you will die knowing that your death will benefit everyone for the better in the end."

The last sound Bouquet ever managed to utter with a strangled moan of regret before, with a final jerk, the ropes snapped his neck like a twig.

-x-x-x-

Christine walked at a brisk pace down the streets of Paris, determined to make amends for what had happened the day before. First she had to apologize to Madame Giry, hoping that the older woman had regained enough of her temper to hear Christine out. Then she had to find Erik and set forth on the daunting task of convincing him that they had to leave. He had been sheltered within the Opera House for nearly three weeks, and even if he was not fully healed, she would have to trust that he was at least healthy enough to travel as soon as possible. This time, she would not take "no" for an answer. She knew they were running out of time. It would only be so long until the tales of Erik's deeds within the Opera Populaire would make it to the ears of the wrong people.

It was not until she reached the steps of the Opera Populaire that she knew that their time had finally ran out.

She knew there was something wrong as soon as the turned the corner of the street and the Opera House came into view. There was an unusual amount of people milling about in the street, all talking excitedly amongst themselves. And there were police everywhere, their carriages creating a barricade in front of the front steps, many of the officers taking notes as they spoke to some of the members of the cast and the managers, all looking equally distressed and terrified at the same time. Christine felt fear wash over her like a blast of icy wind, her stomach turning to lead as the approached the Opera House in a numb, trance-like walk. She pushed past the police officers without thinking of the consequences, ignoring them as they called after her and attempted to restrain her from going in, brushing off their hands as she broke into a run up the stairs and into the grand foyer of the building.

Madame Giry was standing just on the inside, speaking to another group of officers, a handkerchief pressed over her thin lips. Never before had Christine seen the ballet mistress look so distraught. What could have possibly happened to create such a reaction out of so many people?

_Erik!_

The fear of Erik finally being caught crashed down on her, a hundred times more powerful than what she felt before, but before she could make her way to the auditorium Madame Giry saw her. The older woman's face became even paler than before as she recognized Christine, and the direction that the girl was headed in.

"Christine!" she called after her, but Christine just ignored her, spearheading her way through the crowds towards the grand doors that lead to the auditorium. "Christine! Child! Do not go in there! You do not want to see!" But Madame Giry's words were a thousand miles away as Christine burst through the doors, nausea roiling inside her at the sight that lay bare before her.

There was a body hanging from the rafters above the stage, strung up to the catwalks by a series of thin ropes that coiled around the dead man's arms and neck. The body swung back and forth as if to silent music, the eyes in the large, purple head still open, popping from the eye sockets, frozen in terror in his last moments in life, the tongue lolling lifelessly from his mouth. Christine had to turn away, covering her hand with her mouth as her stomach heaved, bile rising dangerously in her throat. She knew this man. It was Joseph Bouquet, the same man who had been spreading tales of the Opera Ghost throughout the Opera Populaire, strung up and dead by the very same catgut lasso that she knew Erik used in the courts of Mazanderan.

"Christine!"

Christine was barely aware that Madame Giry had come up from behind her, placing a cold, trembling hand on her shoulder, allowing the older woman to lead her out of the auditorium and back into the foyer. "Come away, child. You should not be seeing this. You must leave Christine, before…" her words trailed off, but Christine looked up at her in horror, knowing exactly what it was that Madame Giry was implying.

"You can't honestly think that Erik did this!"

"I do not know what to think, Christine." Madame Giry sighed, her eyes sympathetic but still weary. "All I know is that we have a dead stagehand hanging twenty feet above the stage, and that it happened to be the same man who claimed that Erik threatened his life only a few days before. I cannot think of anyone else in this Opera House – or even all of Paris, for that matter – who would be able to kill a mere stagehand in such a professional and gruesome way. Even the managers are convinced that Erik killed the man, and they believed in nothing regarding the so-called 'Opera Ghost' until this happened."

"But you're wrong! You all are!" Christine shouted, earning several curious looks from the police officers in the room. "Erik would never do anything like this! Someone framed him, I just know it! He might have disliked Bouquet, but he would have never killed him in such a soulless manner!"

"And how could you be so sure, child?" Madame Giry retorted, her patience growing thin. "You told me yourself that Erik was an active member of the Mazanderan court, which is world renowned for its seedy politics and blood-lusting monarchy! He might be a changed man after you came into his life, but that does not mean that his past has been completely purged from his life!"

"You're wrong!" Christine cried again, pulling away from Madame Giry's grasp, her eyes wild with determination. "He's innocent! I know he is!" Without waiting for the ballet mistress' further protests, Christine took off at a run, heading straight for the dressing rooms that would take her backstage, tears blurring her vision as she ran. Madame Giry was wrong about Erik, she just knew she was! Erik would never kill a man without a legitimate reason.

…then again, he had said that he should have killed Bouquet for leering at Christine that one night on the stage.

_Oh, Erik… You wouldn't. I know you're better than that. Please, show me that they're wrong…_

The dressing rooms were thankfully empty, as the police had found nothing there and had no further reason to be back there. Christine assumed that the ballerinas and chorus were confined to their dormitories, and all the stagehands sent home for the day, but that hardly mattered. All that mattered now was that she found Erik so he could tell her himself that he did not kill Bouquet.

Christine ran through the deserted halls, devoid of all life, but it was not until she was positive that she was alone that she started calling out Erik's man. Her voice echoed off the walls, carried to the highest rafters of the Opera House, but not a shadow stirred in response to her calls. Tears continued to run unheeded down her face as she called out to Erik again, her eyes darting every which way for any sign that Erik was close by. Still, there was nothing. Was it simply because he was not there? Or was it because he really did kill Joseph Bouquet, and did not want to face her with the man's blood on his hands? Christine pressed the back of her hand to her lips to suppress the sobs that threatened to escape.

"Erik… Erik, please don't hide from me. I don't care if you did it or not, just please, answer me. Please…"

Christine waited, alone in the hallway for an answer – _any_ sort of answer – but the passage way remained a silent as a tomb, as quiet as death itself. Finally, with a defeated sigh, Christine turned to walk away when a pair of hands snaked out from the shadows beside her, one wrapping around her mouth while the other covered her mouth and pulled her into the darkness of the room whence they came. Christine tried to scream, struggling as hard she could against the unyielding grip that held her, even attempting to bite at the hand that covered her mouth…

"Christine!"

The sound of Erik's voice made Christine's struggling immediately come to a halt, and she twisted around to find herself looking up into Erik's golden eyes which still seemed to shine with their own light, even in the darkness of the vacant dressing room he had pulled her into. Christine let out a relieved sob at the sight of him, temporarily forgetting everything else that had happened and overcome with the sheer joy that he was here with her. But when she looked up at him again, she immediately noticed the concern and border-line panic that shone in the depths of Erik's eyes, showing clearly through the mask that covered his face.

"Christine…" he started, but she cut him off before he could get a single word out.

"Erik, please tell me that you did not kill that man! Madame Giry is convinced that it was you, but I told her that I knew better! Please, please, tell me that you didn't kill him!" Christine let her head fall against Erik's shoulder, no longer about to stifle the sobs that racked her body. Her heart and her mind seemed to be at war with one another; her heart thoroughly convinced that the man she loved was no longer the cold-blooded killer that he had once been before she met him, while her mind knew, through and through, what Erik was still capable of, and that while his dark streak had been somewhat quelled since he met her, it would never truly go away.

One of Erik's hands curled beneath Christine's chin, the long talon-like nails whispering against her delicate skin as he gently coaxed her to look up at him. His eyes were still pained, still deeply distressed as Christine had never seen them before, but there was such a level of sincerity in those golden depths that she knew that the next words he spoke were nothing but true.

"I did not kill him, Christine. Yes, I despised Joseph Bouquet for how he looked and spoke to you that night, but I would never kill him. Not because he did not deserve it, but because of what I knew it would do to you." Erik wiped her tears away with his thumbs, as gentle as the summer breeze on her face. "I would never hurt you like this. You have to trust me. Please."

Relief flooded Christine like an antidote on an angry wound as she collapsed against him, wrapping her arms around Erik's lithe form, holding onto him as though there was nothing in the world that could tear them apart. But the fear remained, brining about a painful truth that Christine knew would eventually catch up with them.

"I knew you didn't… I knew you were better than that… But, Erik, you know that this can only mean one thing! The Grand Vizier must have heard Bouquet's stories from somewhere in the city, and now he's trying to lure you out into the open! What should we do?"

Erik looked down at the frightened girl, sorting out the possibilities in his mind. Christine knew how limited some of those options were. "We need to leave Paris. Immediately. But first, Christine, I need to figure out a way to contact Nadir and have him come here. Something tells me that after today's little episode, he'll be storming the Opera House demanding that I repent for Bouquet's blood. Until then, do not return to the Opera House. Stay with your aunt until Nadir sends for you. I do not want to give the Vizier the opportunity to hurt you. Do you understand?"

Christine nodded, but the thought of being separated again from Erik, especially after the death of Joseph Bouquet that he was being blamed for made her legs feel as though they were made of jelly, the trepidation churning inside her as though she had eaten something bad at dinner the night before.

"Erik… Promise that you won't leave without me."

Erik smiled thinly, leaning forward to kiss Christine's forehead. "Never. Now, go. Before the wrong people know you're here."

Reluctantly, Christine left Erik in the dark dressing room, doing her best to appear calm and collected as she walked back out into the foyer of the Opera House, which was still teeming with police officers and staff members of the Opera Populaire. Taking a deep breath, she carefully made her way through the throng of people, drawing as little attention to herself as possible as she left the Opera House, her mind swimming with everything that had happened in the past hour.

Erik had told her not to return to the Opera House until they were ready to leave Paris, but she knew that the scare amount of time they had before the Vizier finally caught up with them were marked. All she could do was wait, and trust that Erik and Nadir would remain safe and out of harms way until they were at last ready to make their escape.

-x-x-x-

From atop the roof of the Opera House, the Grand Vizier watched as she little slip of a girl that Erik was so infatuated with hurriedly walked down the street before she turned a corner and disappeared. So his first plan to separate the lovers had been thwarted through sheer trust and devotion of their blind love for one another. As frustrating as it was, he was not daunted by the situation and was hardly concerned with the turn of events. There was more than one way to break a woman's heart, and he came to Paris with more than one plan on how to do so. He had no other choice but to be fully prepared in such a manner; his only hope of killing the bastard changeling lay with breaking the girl's love for him, and thus, breaking Erik's power with it. And love was such a delicate business to begin with. It was almost a tragedy that he would be tearing the poor girl's heart out in the process.

A cruel smile curled at the Vizier's mouth as he imagined the girl's blood flowing through his fingers after he was finished with the other magician. He had killed many people in his life, but there was no blood quite as sweet or satisfying as the blood of an unspoiled virgin.

Oh, yes. A true tragedy indeed.

-x-x-x-

**Author's Note:** I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I mean, I am happy that it only took me two days to write once I actually sat down and work on it, and the series of events all fell into place nicely, but I'm not happy with how it's written. Forgiveness for any grammatical errors. My beta will send me the corrected version when she has the time to work on it.


	20. Chapter Sixteen: The Scroll of Eros

**Author's Note:** I have no excuse. I really don't. All I can say is I'm sorry this took so long, and thank you to those who haven't given up on me.

**Chapter Sixteen**

**The Scroll of Eros**

****

Despite what her cousin and aunt told her on a regular basis, Christine never considered herself to be particularly slow or dim-witted. Not only did she know how to read better than most people even in her aunt and uncle's circle of friends, but she also knew how to solve simple arithmetic problems, she knew a good bit about history and literature, and she was of quicker wit than she was given credit for. But when it came to common sense, Christine would be the first to admit that it would abandon her in a heartbeat in both the best and worse of times, whether she knew it or not. So when she decided to head into the heart of Paris instead of back to her aunt's house like Erik had told her to, it did not matter whether it was good or bad or right or wrong, all that mattered to her was that Erik was in danger, both from the Grand Vizier and being potentially discovered by the Parisian society. She was not thinking about her well-being; the only thought running through her head was the memory of when she was given a glimpse into Erik's past, when she saw him bound and on display in the gypsy fair for all to come and gawk at. That, and the horrible, hot stains of blood that covered the Vizier's hands as he closed in on Erik, cornering him in the darkest recesses of the Opera House with no way to escape except by driving him out into the open. So it never occurred to Christine that she was in an equal amount of danger as she rushed through the City streets, pushing past the other pedestrians and in full view of the Vizier's henchmen that circled the city like vultures. All that mattered to her was Erik's safety, and there was only one other person in the world who could help them.

The streets of Paris were already full to bursting in the morning hours. The city's citizens were going about their business as usual, oblivious to the horror that had taken place in the Opera House. They only gave momentary vexed glanced at the young woman as she urgently shouldered her way through the dense crowds. Christine knew from experience that the ignorance would only last for so long. By nightfall every man, woman and child would know about the grisly death of the stagehand in the Opera House, and rumors would spread like wildfire through the city. The police would be called to arms, and Erik would be driven out into the open and into the waiting jaws of the Grand Vizier. Christine felt panic twist sickeningly in her gut. Time was running out.

If desperation was the harbinger of miracles than Nadir would have appeared before her long ago, but Christine was left with no other choice but search each Parisian hotel individually as she sought Erik's friend. The search was not an easy one, and many of the bellhops seemed reluctant, even fearful, when she asked if there were any olive-skinned gentlemen staying at their hotels. With each dead-end, Christine could feel the dark ominous shadow creeping closer, the gilded streets of Paris closing in around her like the bars of a cage. The Grand Vizier would do anything within his power to ensure that their escape from the city would not be easy, down to the very last detail. She didn't even have any way to be certain if Nadir was already dead or not.

The morning gradually turned over to afternoon, and as it began to fade into evening Christine felt her spirits begin to diminish with the light. Her search for Nadir abandoned some time ago, Christine sank down onto the edge of a fountain, arms clamped tightly around her narrow middle. It all just seemed so…hopeless. Nadir was nowhere to be found, Erik was the most hunted man in France, and she…

Christine blinked, struck by a new revelation. What about her? What was her fate in all of this? Was the Grand Vizier as hell-bent on destroying her as he was Erik and Nadir? Or what if, once he was finished with Erik, she would be left to live a miserable life void of love and magic? Somehow, she had the feeling that he knew the latter would be a punishment worse than death.

Tears burned Christine's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying would do her no good. The only thing she could do was return to her family's home and wait, and avoid the further risk of putting Erik, Nadir, and herself in any more danger. With a final resigned sigh, Christine stood up and started walking towards her aunt's townhouse.

A waxing crescent moon peeked at her from in between the brick buildings that lined the Paris streets, and despite the warmth of the night air, Christine felt a cold shiver run down her spine. The streets seemed unnaturally empty that night, the usually bright windows of the bistros and gentlemen's clubs dark and lifeless. Was it just her imagination, or did the night seem to fall faster than it normally did? She quickened her pace, trying not to betray her growing anxiety. Somehow, she had the sinking suspicion that her fear would draw the Vizier's henchmen to her like moths to a flame.

Christine felt her heart leapt into her throat as a shadow shifted to her right, just barely in her line of sight. She tried to convince herself that it was nothing more than a cat darting in between two trash bins or a befuddled early-evening drunk trying to stumble his way home, but fear was rapidly closing in on her like rising dark water. Abandoning her caution, Christine broke into a run as the shadows shifted again, gaining on her, reaching out for her…

The scream that tried to escape her throat was abruptly cut off by the hand that closed over her mouth as a second clamped down on her wrist, pulling her backwards into a dark alley. Christine thrashed in her captor's grasp, but she was no match for his brute strength. She was unable to do anything but desperately wish she had not been such a fool, that there was nothing she wanted more than to be back in Erik's arms, safe from all harm…

"Are you mad, girl?"

The hiss of a familiar voice in her ear broke through the fog of panic, and as soon as she was released Christine swung around to face her captor, looking up into the jade-green eyes of Nadir Khan. Relied as she had never known before flooded her, but the stern look on Nadir's face had frozen her to the spot. As happy as she was to see him here, it was evident that he did not feel the same way.

"What in the name of Allah are you doing out here, Christine?" The Daroga demanded, his eyes flashing with anger and horror.

"I was… I was…" Christine stammered, but the words she wanted to speak did not want to take form. She had never seen Nadir so upset before. "I was looking for you! It's Erik, he's been…"

"Framed for murder, I know." Nadir finished for her. "This city thrives on gossip. I heard the rumor long ago. The Vizier is closing in. All he has to do is ensure all his pawns are in the right positions before he can make his final move."

"Nadir, this is horrible! What are we going to do?"

"'We?'" Nadir repeated, flabbergasted. "What do you mean, 'we'? You are going to do what you should have done long ago and return to your aunt's home. I will deal with Erik."

"Do not treat me like a child!" Christine retorted indignantly. "I have as much of a right to be here as you do! Erik needs me!"

"Yes! He does! Open your eyes, Christine! Don't you see this is exactly what the Vizier wants?"

Christine's mouth snapped shut, and for the first time in a long while, she was at a complete loss of words. She shook her head numbly, unable to say or do anything else.

"You are the key to everything in this battle! You must understand, Christine, that a magician's strength comes from two sources; from within himself, and from an outside source that acts as the final channel. Each magician's channel is different, and without it, his power can never be complete. The Vizier found his channel in the blood of the innocent victims he tortured within the Shah's court. For years, he dreaded the day that Erik would find his channel because he knew when he did, Erik's powers would suppress any the Vizier could ever dream to possess! Don't you see, Christine? You are Erik's channel! It was your love that made Erik complete, but if that connection was ever broken, Erik would be reduced to nothing more than a mere shell of his former self!"

"But that's impossible!" Christine's voice bordered on panic. "There's nothing the Vizier could do to come between us! He already tried by framing Erik for killing that stagehand, but I knew Erik would never do anything like that!"

The look at Nadir gave her then was so somber that it drove spikes of cold dread into Christine's heart. "Believe me, child, it is easier to break a heart than one can imagine. The Vizier is no different than a viper, and like a viper, he will strike when you least suspect it."

Bitter tears stung at Christine's eyes, her throat constricting in fear and denial. It wasn't possible for the Grand Vizier to tear her and Erik apart. She wouldn't let him! She would be able to see through anything he could possibly use against them, just as she had that morning! And yet…

And yet there was such truth to Nadir's words that Christine was flooded with cold fear that she could not fight off.

"I do not doubt your love for Erik, my dear." Nadir said softly, laying a gentle hand on Christine's thin shoulder. "Never for a second. It was by Allah's will that you two found one another, and He will not allow such evil to come between his children. But be warned, the Vizier is cunning and a master of deception. Take heed, for by the time you realize what his ploy is, it will be too late. I shall escort you home, Christine, then I will seek Erik. I have established contact with the Opera Populaire's ballet mistress some days ago. She will be expecting me."

Christine only nodded, but she couldn't make herself look at Nadir anymore. They walked back to the townhouse in silence, but Christine didn't know if it was because they no longer had anything to say to one another or because she wouldn't trust herself to speak even if she had something to say.

Nadir waited in the shadows between two streetlamps as Christine ascended the narrow steps of her aunt's house. She only looked back once, but Nadir was almost impossible to see; a spectral guardian watching her from the cover of night. Christine felt so overcome with anguish she could barely force herself to turn and walk inside the house. Who knew when the next time she would them again would be?

It was so late that the front parlor and sitting rooms were dark and empty, the oil lamps extinguished long ago. She should have been grateful for some small miracles; at least she wouldn't have to deal with her aunt's badgering about her tardiness this evening, giving Christine a clear path to her room where she could be along with her thoughts.

"And where have you been?"

Christine barely set her foot on the second floor landing when Giselle's door burst open, and Christine found herself face-to-face with a creature dressed in a fluffy pink robe, glaring down at her through a thick mud mask under a mass of pink hair rollers. The effect was shockingly horrific and comical at the same time, but Christine was so preoccupied with her thoughts that she was unable to do anything but stare blankly up at her oldest cousin.

"Well?"

"It's none of your business, Giselle." Christine said moodily. "Now let me by. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."

"Not so fast!" Giselle snapped as Christine tried to brush past her. Christine went instantly rigid, her temper rising. She suddenly wanted to do nothing more than slap that ridiculous mud mask off of Giselle's face. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me what happened today!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't be coy with me, Christine Daaé. You've been working at the Opera House for over a month now. Is it true that a stagehand was found gutted like a pig on the stage this morning?"

"Of course not!" Christine rounded on her cousin, fire blazing in her eyes. "The idiot man was a drunkard, and he merely tripped and broke his neck! You need to learn to get your facts right before spouting such horrible filth, you ignorant cow!"

Anger flared so fast and hot in Giselle's face that Christine was surprised her mask didn't melt, but the other woman had been rendered completely speechless. Never before had Christine been so forward, so openly hostile; she surprised even herself! Giselle was quickly overcoming the shock, and Christine rallied herself for the oncoming fight of her life had Francine not appeared from her own room at that moment.

"What on earth are you two doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Christine quickly turned away, stalking off towards her room before either Giselle or Francine had the chance to call after her. Right now Christine did not need a family squabble on top of all her other problems; she knew it would only add to more heartache. She quickly ducked into her room at the end of the hall, welcoming the darkness that enveloped her. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, to hide from the Vizier's cruelty and wickedness until Erik came for her. Never before had she felt so helpless, but she there was nothing she could do but wait.

A soft knock at her door pulled Christine out of her reverie, and she could tell by its timid lilt that she had nothing to fear. Still, she only opened the door just enough to see Francine's wide worried eyes gazing back at her.

"Christine, are you all right?" Francine asked, her voice a squeaking whisper.

Christine sighed inwardly. She certainly was not all right, but she also did not want her cousin to worry herself sick. "I'm fine, Francine. Now go back to bed before you wake your mother up. Don't concern yourself with me."

"But I am concerned for you, Christine!" Francine protested, placing one firm hand on the door to keep Christine from closing it on her. Christine stared back at her cousin, stunned. Just as she had never talked back to Giselle, never before had Francine been so bold in speaking her mind. "You've been acting so peculiar lately, you're just like as you were back in Persia!" Tears glistened in Francine's eyes, and she paused to wipe them away. "Christine… You don't have to tell me what's going on, or where you really disappear to every day. Just please, please promise me you'll be careful. _Please_."

"I… I will." Christine stammered after a moment's stunned silence. "I promise."

As Christine watched her cousin retreat down the hall back down to her own room, she could not help but sense that Francine, in some way, knew the truth.

-x-x-x-

Nadir watched over Christine's house for some time after she disappeared through the front door before turning and walking down the street that would take him back to his hotel. The night was still, but Nadir could still feel the faintest hints of something threatening lurking in the shadows, like a tiger prowling through the forest. While Nadir was not one to easily submit to fear, he still quickened his pace until he arrived at his hotel in the heart of Paris.

The lobby glowed from the multitudes of amber lamps lining the walls as Nadir stepped inside, betraying a false sense of warmth and security. The Daroga nodded to the front deskman, but wasted no time in ascending the stairs that led up to his loft apartment.

Guilt roiled inside Nadir's gut like a sickness as he passed the third floor landing. He hated lying to Christine. He never actually talked to the ballet mistress of the Opera Populaire, nor had he ever ventured closer to the Opera House than what was needed. He never needed a reason to.

Nadir entered the dark loft apartment, taking the time to hang up his cloak before turning to face his visitor.

"It certainly took you long enough."

"I apologize for keeping you waiting, Erik, but certain precautions had to be made."

Erik stood silhouetted against the tall, arched patio door of the apartment, his cloak billowing around him like two great black wings. Although the man's face was hidden in shadow, Nadir could not suppress the shiver that ran down his spine at the sight of Erik standing before him; an angel of hell.

"That girl certainly knows how to make a nuisance of herself." Ayesha said sourly as she unwound her lithe form from around Erik's legs. "Had I not been so fond of her, I would have stopped following her hours ago."

Erik growled in the darkness, the shadows shifting around him as he moved. "Christine is all right then?"

"She is as safe now as she will be during these dark times." Nadir reassured his friend, but there was a tense, drawn-out silence between them. Nadir took a deep breath, readying himself for the impending battle. "Erik… We cannot stay in Paris any longer. Even you cannot deny that. But you also must know… Christine cannot come with us."

"Do you think I do not know that?" Erik exploded, ignoring Nadir's frantic gestures for him to keep his voice down or Ayesha's startled hiss. "Do you take me for a fool? Of course I know Christine can't go with us!" The rage and fire in Erik's eyes vanished as fast as it came, leaving only empty sorrow in its place. "Fate once again has shown me its merciless cruelty. Christine came to me when I was certain love was beyond my reach, only to loose her in the end."

"Erik…" Nadir began slowly, laying a comforting yet cautious hand on the changeling's shoulder. "I did not say we would be gone forever. We only need to draw the Vizier away long enough to protect Christine from his wrath. I do not know how long it will take to efficiently deal with the Vizier, but once we no longer have to fear him you can return to Paris and to Christine."

Erik grimaced behind his mask. Nadir's unspoken words echoed loudly in his head. Once the Vizier was dead, there would be nothing preventing Erik from returning to Christine and claiming the life they rightfully deserved, but there was no telling how long that would take. They could chase the Vizier all across Europe, all across the world. It could take years to deal with the man. While Erik would wait for all eternity to return to his angel, but Christine was young, gifted, and beautiful. His heart belonged to her, but could he really condemn her to years of loneliness while she waited for him to return?

A horrible crushing feeling took hold of Erik's heart, painfully squeezing the air from his lungs. The thought of loosing Christine – to either time or to the affections of another – caused him more pain than he ever thought possible; greater than Luciana's death, and far greater than the first time Christine had seen him without his mask. When he spoke again, it took a vast amount of control to keep his voice from trembling.

"How long do I have to say my farewells?"

Erik could sense Nadir hesitate, nearly hearing the words that became lodged in the Daroga's throat. Knowing Nadir as he did, Erik knew his friend thought it would be best to leave as soon as they were allowed – as soon as tonight if it was possible – but even the overcautious man would not dare deny Erik his one request.

"You have three days to say your goodbyes to Christine, Erik. We must not linger any longer than that."

Erik continued to stare out the window, but he nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Three days then. Thank you, Nadir."

"Wait!" Ayesha called out as her master turned towards the tall patio doors of the loft, his wings unfurling from under his cloak. "Where are you going?"

"I just need to clear my head and be along with my thoughts for a while." Erik replied tonelessly, not turning back to look at either of them. "Ayesha, stay here until Nadir and I come back for you. It will be safer here than at the Opera House." Without waiting for response or protest, Erik leapt gracefully onto the railing of the patio and disappeared into the star-scattered night sky.

-x-x-x-

She was an angel.

Erik gazed down at the woman before him, transfixed by the beautiful image she created. The soft, pale moonlight that poured through her tall bedroom windows fell gently across Christine's face, illuminating her delicate features with silvery, ethereal light. Her breathing was light and easy, her dreams free of the plague of nightmares that so often visited him. Erik stood over her, motionless. A powerful, unnamed emotion roiled in his chest, caught somewhere in between pain and escalation. How was it possible for such a beautiful creature to care for him the way she did, to even love him the way she claimed to? How could an angel such as Christine look into his demon's face and show compassion instead of repulsion?

Slowly, Erik reached towards her with one hand, his long, talon-like fingers whispering along the skin of her cheek before he forced himself to pull away. Although he wished to do nothing more than to hold her in his arms, to kiss away her tears and hide her from the dangers of the world, Erik would not dare wake her up. He did not deserve to.

Reluctantly, Erik withdrew a tightly rolled scroll of vellum from his black cloak. The Scroll of Eros sat in his hands as a dead weight, a physical manifestation of all his turmoil, guilt, and agony. Rage flared in his golden eyes as the sight of the accursed thing; he wanted nothing more than to destroy it like a mere scrap of parchment, but the enchanted vellum would allow him to do no such thing. With a flick of his wrist the Scroll hovered in mid-air before him, unraveling itself to its full length. At first, the Scroll appeared blank, but then a thin, tightly-looped script began to appear on the vellum, written by an invisible hand. The words glowed brilliant gold, the shining letter enticing the reader with false promises. Erik scanned the script once, as though this time it might read differently, then with a silent growl, snapped the Scroll shut with a wave of his hand. The words remained the same; cold, soulless, an eternal mockery of his very existence. The words had long ago burning themselves into his mind, taunting him, torturing him.

"_If youth and beauty doth thou seek,_

_ 'tis the heart and soul of love thou doth reap."_

An eternity of youth and beauty in exchange for the sacrifice of his true love's heart soul was the greatest cost for him to be rid of his curse.

Damn fate! Damn beauty! And damn the khanum to the nine pits of hell! She must have known of the Scroll's secret or she would have never enticed him with its power! It was all just another twisted game to her, another blood-soaked guise of entertainment for her to watch Erik choose between the two things he could never have. Even now, half-way across the world from Persia, he could very well hear her laughing at him.

Erik gazed down at Christine's sleeping form, watching her in silence as unspeakable anguish tore his heart to shreds. Never, never in a thousand years would he ever sacrifice something so pure for his own selfishness. However, the mere knowledge of what the Scroll demanded and that he carried it on his person made him feel more like a monster than he ever believed before. The Scroll had marked Erik as its master, and it would not let itself be dismissed unless the price was paid or someone took it from him, but every moment he carried it with him was a constant reminder of its burden on his conscience.

Christine sighed in her sleep, turning over under her bedcovers so she was now facing him. Her face was so peaceful, so angelic, so completely unaware of the turmoil that raged within him; the sight burned him as holy water burned a demon. Nadir was right. It was best for him to leave, now, for the sake of Christine's safety; not from the Vizier, but rather from himself.

With a heavy heart, Erik reached up and removed his mask, loosing himself in a dream of Christine waking up and smiling lovingly at the sight of his unmasked face, holding her arms open for him to join her where their fears and doubts could be forgotten and left behind forever.

But it would not happen tonight. Not tonight, and perhaps not ever.

Erik bent over his sleeping angel, his thin lips brushing over the delicate skin of her forehead; just enough to feel her, yet not enough to disturb her. He was not ready to say goodbye. Not yet.

Despite his feather-light touch, Christine stirred under the gentle caress of his mouth. Erik withdrew from her, replacing his mask as he disappeared into the shadows of her room before she could wake up. Her eyelids fluttered once, and a soft moan escaped her mouth; a single word that could have been his name. But the moment of wakefulness was gone as soon as it had come, and Christine once again slipped the embrace of sleep.

Erik did not dare emerge from the shadows, but he remained there for an indefinite amount of time, watching Christine as she continued to sleep as though it was the last time he would see her. Sorrow knifed through Erik's chest as he forced himself to turn away, returning to the window before vanishing into the deepening night, unaware that Giselle was still awake, and happened to be looking out her window just in time to see a dark winged figure embrace the darkened sky.

**Author's Note:** This chapter was supposed to be much darker, but I couldn't see Erik really giving into the temptation of the Scroll, but it did offer interesting food for thought. If Erik did have the chance to become normal, how far would he go to obtain it? In my opinion, even he has his boundaries.

I've really been considering getting this self-published, especially since I've been hunting down self-published (albeit well-written) stories of Phantom of the Opera on However, considering I've pulled so much from Susan Kay's _Phantom, _I don't think that would be possible. As much as I would love to get this published, getting sued is a bigger concern. However, that does not mean that I won't attempt to write something in the future, but we'll get there when the time comes.

I can't make any promise to when the next chapter will be posted, but I can stand by my promise when I say this story will, someday, be completed.


	21. Chapter Seventeen: The Masque

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**Author's Note:** Here you go, my loyal and ever faithful readers; the full chapter that's been almost a year in the making. I hope it was worth it was worth the wait.

Kisses, my lovelies.

**Chapter Seventeen: The Masque**

If there was a hell, then it was not the reeking, fiery inferno that resided deep beneath the surface of the earth, but it was in fact here on earth, and, more specifically, within the locked confines of Christine's room in the two days following the murder of Joseph Bouquet. Christine's sass towards her cousin did not go unpunished, and the following morning she found herself locked inside her room like a wayward child, completely cut off from any news of the outside world. Anxiety and restlessness began to consume her by the end of the first morning.

It did not take long for the news of the grisly murder at the Opera House to devour the city, despite the manager's best attempts to keep the scandal quiet. The upper tiers of the Parisian society were the first to become infected with the macabre gossip. The day after the murder, Christine's aunt invited some of her preening peahen friends to the Paris townhouse for afternoon tea. No sooner has the women been seated in the garden terrace, which by an amazing stroke of luck happened to be right outside of one of Christine's bedroom windows, did they fall upon the rumors like wild dogs on a carcass.

"Mousiers Andre and Firman claim that it was merely a vagabond who killed the man, but that's certainly a lie. Everyone in Paris knows that the Opera House has always been a playground for all manners of ghosts and spirits. From what I've heard, nothing mortal could have killed that man." One woman said as she stirred cream into her tea.

"I heard that the man was not merely killed." Another woman interjected. From where she sat at her window, Christine grimaced. The women were playing a favorite game of the aristocratic houses b trying to outdo one another with the juiciest bits of gossip picked u from the streets. "I heard that his eyes were burned from his skull and his body was blacked and charred, as though he had been scorched by an inferno from the inside-out. Only a demon could have done that."

Christine snorted softly at the women below her. From her view at the window, her aunt and her chattering friends, in their pale pastel dresses and wide-brimmed hats, looked like absurd, abstract flowers. They pecked at gossip on the streets like chickens pecked at corn; they would eat up anything that was thrown at them.

"Well," a woman in a peach-colored dress added with a sniff. "Regardless of what it is, the police couldn't find a lick of evidence that anyone out of the ordinary had been at the Opera House at all." Christine stiffened at the mention of the police, but relaxed as the woman continued. "It might as well have been a ghost. Still, I cannot believe those fools Andre and Firman insist on holding their absurd masquerade as though nothing had happened."

"Are you implying that you will not be attending, then?" Another woman in a baby-blue dress asked, her voice laced with a hint of malice.

Christine leaned forward on her window frame, suddenly intrigued. This was a common and dangerous game, played among the upper-class families. To challenge one's dignity and reputation was to embark on a risky challenge; one that almost ended in glory for one side and humiliation for the other. To gamble with one's honor reaped greater rewards and losses than any amount of money. The Opera House Masque was one of the most exalted events in all of France. It did not matter if the patrons were expected to strut about naked, or if the wine was rumored to be laced with snake venom – of if a stagehand was brutally murdered by a vengeful ghost – to not attend the Masque would be to loose face before the entire Parisian society.

"Of course I'm going!" The woman sniffed indignantly., hiding her unease behind her teacup. "Nothing so preposterous as the myth of a ghost will prevent that." Each woman murmured a word of agreement before returning to their own teacups, the discussion over. However, even Christine knew that her confident words held little merit. The true test of their social worth would take place on the night of the Masque. Christine could bet that only half of the women seated in the garden would actually be attending. The second half would end up spending their time between now and then cooking up some elaborate excuse to why they couldn't have possibly made it.

"So, tell us, Celeste." A woman in a yellow dress said, breaking the tension with a delicate change of conversation. "Have you decided what to do with that wayward niece of yours, Celeste?"

Christine's aunt choked on a mouthful of tea, the pale liquid dribbling down her powered chin and coming dangerously close to spotting her expensive pale-lavender satin dress. Christine would have laughed had it not been for the ominous chill that ran down her spine at the woman's question. She had always thought that her aunt took careful measures to ensure that no one outside of the family even knew that Christine existed. Or, at least, that was what she had always thought. What in the would could her aunt have mentioned to these women that Christine didn't know of?

"Oh, yes. That." Her aunt dabbed at the few droplets of tea that clung to her skin with a silk napkin, careful to not ruin her carefully applied makeup. Then she heaved a huge, overly emphasized sigh, the type designed to dredge up sympathy in a pitiful "woe-is-me" kind of way. "Oh, I just didn't know what to do with her anymore. You would think that after all we've done for her, that child would have the decency to show at least a little gratitude! Jean and I took her in when anyone else would have thrown her to the streets. We brought her into our home when we already had two mouths to feed, included her when we traveled to England, Spain, and Persia, and how does that ungrateful little brat repay us? With that abhorred attitude and a head full of clouds, that's how!"

"So the arrangements that have been made for her…" The woman in the peach dress began, but Celeste abruptly cut her off.

"Oh, yes, everything was finalized just last week."

"And who did you decide to go with?"

Aunt Celeste smiled, but it was a horrible, deceitful smile, and Christine's stomach turned over in sickening apprehension at the sight of it. "Well, I'd like to think of myself as a charitable woman, so I could not send her to the goat monger. That would have been cruel, do you not agree? Perhaps if his price had been a little higher, but it was the tallow merchant who showed the most interest in obtaining such a young and beautiful bride. If she was grateful for nothing else, she should at least feel some gratitude that I chose him and not any of the others. This gentleman sells the finest rendered pig-fat in all of France, so he has the means to support her. He's certainly a much better find than anyone she could meet on her own."

"That girl should indeed consider herself fortunate! If she had been my responsibility, I would have sent her straight to a nunnery!" The woman in the blue dress exclaimed. "When does the groom come to escort his blushing bride back to his estate?"

"He is on his way from the country as we speak, but because of the Masque tomorrow evening, I am in no state to entertain guests before then. He is due to arrive the morning after, and by that evening, Christine will no longer be any of my concern."

Christine collapsed to her bedroom floor, her legs no longer able to support her, her mind reeling so fast that for a moment she feared that she would be ill. She had no idea that her aunt had made arrangements for her to be married, none at all! And yet she was planned to be taken away from Paris the day after tomorrow, the bride of a complete stranger who made a living selling processed pig fat! Erik had told her to wait for him until they were ready to leave Paris, but what good would that do them if she was no longer here?

To hell with promises! If she stayed here and continued to wait for him, then they truly would be separated forever.

Christine took several deep, calming breaths, willing rational thought to return. Then she began to think.

-x-x-x-

The next night, Christine prepared for her escape.

The hours before had been nothing but slow torture, and each moment that passed felt like a moment wasted. A part of her desperately wished that Erik would appear at her window, ready to whisk her away, but when he never showed she knew that she had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. Once she was able to come up with an escape plan, she spent the rest of the time between than and the Masque memorizing every step, every detail until she could recite it backwards. Now that the hour was drawing near, however, Christine began to doubt herself. It might have been a working plan, but that did not make it, by any means, a good one. She was only going off her recollection of the floor plan of the Opera House, trying to recall all the out-of-the-way entrances that would all her to slip in unseen. Normally those doors were unwatched, but things could be different on this particular night. The police would be swarming around the entire building, and there was also the Vizier's henchmen to consider. The plan could fail before it even begun…

_But it's that, or spend the rest of my life married to a man who specializes in the sell of pig fat._

Her mind made up, Christine sat on her bed, staring out her window, waiting for the other members of the household to leave for the evening.

After what felt like an eternity, the sky outside her bedroom window eventually began to change, the blue of the afternoon slowly becoming shot through with the reds and golds of a brilliant sunset before deepening to the royal purple of the evening. The breeze that sighed in through her with was warm and moist, and not before long Christine heard the sound of fireworks in the distance. Somewhere out in the depths of Paris, the Opera House Masque had officially begun.

A sharp rapping on her door pulled Christine out of her reverie.

"Christine." Christine sneered at the sound of her aunt's voice muffled from behind her door. "We are leaving for the Masque now. Rosie will bring you your supper shortly. You are not to leave your room until I retrieve you tomorrow morning, do you understand?"

"Yes, aunt Celeste." Christine replied obediently, her voice betraying no indication that she overheard her aunt speaking of her fate the morning before.

Her aunt left without another word, and several moments later, Christine heard the crack of a whip and the clatter and clamor of a carriage pulling away from the house. The first part of her plan was complete, but Christine made no motion to rise from her bed. She could not even give away the slightest hint that she was leaving until Rosie came in to deliver her supper and leave again. Although Christine loved Rosie and trusted her with her life, she could not bear to tell the old woman she was leaving that night, never to return. If Rosie had begged her to stay, Christine was sure that she would never be able to leave.

After a short while, Christine heard a soft, polite knock at her door, and Rosie emerged a moment later, carrying a tray. Christine thanked her as the old woman set her dinner down on a small table, but her voice cracked as she spoke, and she could not trust herself to say anything more. Rosie turned to look at Christine, then smiled warmly, leaning down to place a loving kiss on the young woman's forehead. Tears sprang to Christine's eyes, and as the old woman shuffled from the room, Christine wondered if the kiss was because Rosie knew that Christine knew that Christine was supposed to leave with the tallow merchant the following morning, or if it was because in all the wisdom of her years, she suspected Christine's true intentions that night.

As soon as the bedroom door was closed, Christine counted to one hundred, then immediately jumped from her bed and began to gather the few belongings she would be bringing with her. She had gathered everything together in a small handbag the night before, bundling it into her traveling cloak and tucking it under her bed, waiting for this moment. Christine retrieved it, unwinding the handbag from the cloak, which she threw over her shoulders despite the promising warmth of the night. Then she opened the handbag, filling it with the bread, wedge of cheese, and apple that had been part of the dinner that Rosie brought to her, setting the food beside the wad of money that constituted of her life's savings. For the time being, Christine would have no choice but to travel in the dress she was wearing now; attempting to bring anything else would only show them down.

With the second phase of her plan complete, Christine forced herself to eat a few spoonfulls of stew – she did not have much of an appetite, but it was important for her to keep her strength up – before moving to the next stage. With her cloak firmly in place and her handbag secured to her wrist, Christine knelt down beside her bed again and pulled out a long, thick rope that consisted of all her linens, bedclothes, and a couple of dresses all knotted together, forming a chain that would hopefully help her descend safely to the ground. Christine took the quilt from her bed, tied it to the end of the rope, then secured it to her bed. She took a moment to make sure that there wasn't anyone around to see her – she would be lowering herself into the garden, but their gardener was no stranger to working into the evenings – then threw the remaining sheet-rope out of window. Without another backwards glance, Christine carefully stepped out onto the windowsill and sat down on it, her legs hanging over the edge and dangling over the green shrubbery below. She swallowed. Suddenly the ground looked much further away than she had previously anticipated. Taking a deep breath, Christine grabbed a hold of the sheet-rope and swung herself out the window, but instead of holding like she expected it to, her sudden weight caused the bed to shift and slide several inches across her bedroom floor. Christine gasped as she rope dropped sharply, and although she tried to hold on she ended up loosing her grip and fell six feet into the bushes below, the thorny shrubs breaking her fall.

It was only the risk of being caught that kept the string of curses from flying from Christine's mouth as she feebly tried to free herself from the bushes' thorny clutches. The brambles bit at her exposed skin and clawed at her clothing until she was able to free herself. Something twisted within her ankle as she landed, sending burning pain shooting up her leg and making her gasp in pain through all the unspoken curses. Tears of embarrassment rather than pain burned Christine's eyes, but she blinked them back; she had no time to waste. The garden was rapidly darkening with the coming night, and even if no one saw her, they certainly would have heard the commotion of her less-than-graceful landing outside the parlor window. Her ankle was throbbing hotly, but thankfully it only felt as though she had twisted it and hadn't caused any worse damage. Once she was convinced it could hold her weight, she made sure that her few possessions were still in tact and opened the garden gate to slip quietly into the streets.

The very air seemed to crackle with suppressed energy although the streets were deathly silent and still, the oppressive late-summer humidity broken only by the thin breeze that rose from the east. Dark storm clouds had gathered on the horizon, bearing down on the city, brining the promise of rain before the night was over. As much as Christine shuddered at the thought of started their journey in it rain, it would probably provide decent cover from anyone trying to follow them. Although the streets seemed unnaturally empty that night, Christine could not help but feel that she was being watched by countless eyes hidden in the narrow gaps between the tightly packed houses, closing in on her. Despite the tension of anxiety building between her shoulders, Christine continued to walk with her head high, eye focused straight ahead, keeping a steady pace despite the throb the reverberated through her ankle, her unseen stalkers continued to follow her all the way to the Opera House.

As Christine rounded the corner to the road that would take her directly to the Opera Populaire, she suddenly found herself stepping into another world, surrounded by a menagerie of strange and wonderful creatures. The plaza before the Opera was full to bursting with people hidden behind a cacophony of masks and costumes, and no two were alike. Christine saw an array of familiar creatures, both real and imaginary, but there was also a vast amount of abstract ones; dreams and ideas and desires whose true meanings were only known by the those adorned in the garments. They moved amongst one another like spirits, disappearing an reappearing before Christine's bewildered eyes, existing in a world and time that was not her own. And Christine moved through them, unnoticed, an insect traveling through a realm inhabited by angels and fae until she reached an empty, undisclosed alley clinging to the side of the Opera House. Having lived in Paris for more than half her life, Christine had always heard about the grandeur and splendor of the annual Opera House's masquerade ball, but not even the most skilled storyteller could have captured the true sights and sounds and unsuppressed beauty of the Masque. A line of glowing lamps encircled the wide plaza, bathing the façade of the Opera House with warm, golden light, and the guests glimmered and sparkled in the light of the full moon. Music enveloped the space, its tempo the very heartbeat of the night, and Christine couldn't help but jump as several fireworks bloomed magnificently in the dark sky, their colors so bright and beautiful that even the darkest shadows were painted in a spectrum of rainbow hues. It was as if the horrific murder had never happened, and it anyone did happen to think of it, they certainly were not going to bring it up now. Everyone was too enjoying themselves to be bothered by dark thoughts.

Christine forced herself to look away from the grand spectacle before her, turning back down the narrow street, which seemed to be horribly dark and quiet compared to the scene taking place only a couple meters away. Christine stepped carefully through the garbage and litter strewn through the alley, careful to not injure her ankle worse than it already was. She had only become partially familiar with all the secret doors of the Opera Populaire either by chance or by accident when she used to seek out Erik, and now she had to sift through her foggy memories to make sure she was going to right way. It seemed as though all the side entrances were only distinguished by uneven perfections in the wall, and there was always the chance that they door she chose lead her to a portion of the Opera House she was completely unfamiliar with. But she also knew that the longer she stayed outdoors, the longer she would stay exposed to unwanted eyes. She would just have to take a risk and hope that luck was on her side.

The pale moonlight that filtered through the gap in the alley betrayed what she was looking for; the vaguest outline of a doorway. She tried to remember where this particular door lead to, but nothing came to mind. Reluctantly, Christine reached into her handbag and withdrew a small brass key. A wave of guilt surged within her as she looked at it, turning the small object over in her hands. It was not just any key, but a skeleton key that lead to anywhere in the entire Opera House, and it had recently been in the possession of Madame Giry until Christine took it from her key ring some days before, just in case she needed it for just this reason. It had not been the proudest moment in her life, and she fully intended to return it to the ballet mistress, complete with letter of apology, as soon as she was done with it and hope that Madame Giry would understand her plight. Feeling in the dark for the keyhole, Christine inserted the key into the slot, and as soon as she heard the bolt on the inside give she opened the door just wide enough to allow herself slip into the shadows of the Opera House.

A single dingy oil lamp was lit in the narrow corridor behind the door, but other than that, Christine was alone with the darkness. The air felt uncharacteristically close and smelt of must and dust and she suddenly felt as though she had entered an ancient tomb rather than the Paris Opera House. The space was so still and quiet that it was difficult to believe that the highest respected event in all of France was taking place just a short distance away. Christine could not help but shiver as she proceeded down the small hallway. The feeling of being watched had followed her indoors.

Fortunately, it did not take Christine long to figure out where she was. After only a few turns down the narrow corridors, she discovered that she was close to the ballerina's dressing rooms, which were, if memory served her correctly, right next to the costume storage. At least she had some luck on her side that night; the door she entered through put her almost exactly where she needed to be. As expected, the costume closest was locked, but with a quick turn of the skeleton key Christine was able to enter unnoticed.

A long oil lamp burned near the door, and when Christine turned up the flame the light shimmered off an arrangement of beads and silk and bejeweled sequences from the costumes of every past performance in the Opera Populaire. The entire room looked as though it had been ransacked, as though the ballerinas had torn it apart looking for all the correct trimmings and accessories for their costumes, but it seemed as though she still had a generous amount of costumes to choose from despite that. Christine knew that she wouldn't be able to move freely about the Opera House if she was not wearing a costume; if she did not look like a guest, then she would be thrown back to the streets before she had the chance to even begin looking for Erik or Nadir. Being in costume also meant that if the Vizier's henchmen were lurking throughout the Masque, then they would not be able to recognize her.

Christine wasted as little time as possible sorting through the sea of outfits, looking for the first to catch her eye. Thankfully, it did not take long. The weak light of the lamp glimmered off a hint of white silk in a wardrobe of darker clothing, and Christine pulled the dress free without even bothering to look at the others. She was not sure which production the dress had been made for, but it was beautifully and expertly made. The material glistened even in the dimmest light, the white silk complimented by the rich copper highlights laced through the dress. The neck, sleeves and hem were trimmed with satin roses of the same copper hue, and attached to the right shoulder was a single white wing, made up of white swan and striped pheasant feathers. It was a dress unlike any Christine had ever seen before, but not only was it was undeniably beautiful, but it also looked to have been made for a person about her size. Her mind made up, Christine gathered u the dress, grabbed a white-feathered mask from a rack, and retreated into the ballerina's dressing rooms to get prepared.

It was not an easy task getting the dress on by herself, and although she got lost in the sea of material on more than one occasion, she was at last able to pull the dress on right, pleased that it fit better than expected. Her hair was going to have to stay down; she had neither the time nor the skill to style it on her own. The best she could do was brush it until it glowed, matching the copper highlights on her dress, reliving it of any tangles and twigs she had acquired from her fall from her bedroom window and arranging the curls carefully around her shoulders. When the mask was in place, Christine took a moment to observe herself in the mirror. The overall result was not bad. One might even consider her beautiful. Regardless of what she did or didn't look like, she at least looked like she belonged at the Masque. No one would question her being there.

Christine left the ballerina's dressing room, and hid her dress, cloak, and handbag in a deeply shadowed, undisclosed coroner, so she might easily retrieve it when she and Erik were ready to make their departure. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she picked up her skirts and began to make her way to the grand foyer. After only being "employed" at the Opera House for a few weeks, Christine could navigate her was through the backstage areas directly behind the stage fairly well, but any hope of being able to find Erik unnoticed was shattered at the sound of an unfamiliar voice materializing somewhere behind her.

"Oi! What are you doing back here?"

Christine very nearly jumped out of her skin, heart hammering inside her chest, and when she swung around to face the source of the voice, she saw a middle-aged stagehand half-running towards her. "Mademoiselle, what in the name of heaven are you doing back here? The Masque is the other way!" Christine's mouth worked silently for a moment, her nerves too jangled to find her voice. The stagehand smiled kindly at her. "Begging your pardon, I did not mean to startle you. I'm sure you just lost your way, yes? Come with me, mademoiselle. I will take you back to the ball." He removed his cap in a very gentleman-like way and offered his arm to Christine, who had no choice but to take it. She cursed herself, silently. She had not anticipated that the stagehands would be at the Opera House that night. That meant that finding Erik would be that much more difficult.

Christine remained silent as her escort led her through the main auditorium, which stood empty and silent in preparation for the opening gala the following evening. "It is dangerous to be wandering around here by yourself, mademoiselle." The stagehand told her. "There are ghosts stalking these aisles." He indicated towards the grand double-doors that would lead her to the crowded, sparkling foyer. Just before he left, he replaced his cap on his head, tipping it respectfully towards her. "If I am allowed to say so, mademoiselle, you look like an angel. Many a hearts gentlemen here break tonight just by the sight of you." This time, Christine managed to smile at him, offering a word of thanks before turning back to the masquerade.

At first none of the extravagantly dressed attendees noticed Christine's arrival, but as she moved through the crowds she became aware of the increasing amount of attention on her, as though she was Cinderella who had just arrived at the prince's ball. She was grateful for the mask that hid the brilliant blush that covered her face as the young men all bowed to her as she passed, and their female companions who glared jealously behind her back. Her original plan of moving through the Masque unnoticed was rapidly unraveling. The whole foyer seemed to grow uncomfortably quiet as all eyes were drawn to her. A feeling of panic began to well up in her chest as she remembered her aunts and cousins were here as well. What would happen if they discovered she was here? Christine was a hair's breadth away from bolting when suddenly the music started up again as a swinging waltz and everyone returned to their previous engagements, the moment broken in the space of a heartbeat.

Sighing in relief, Christine relaxed and mingled into the crowds, trying to re-think her plan. All of the unwanted attention did nothing for her already tightly wound nerves. A servant dressed in a gold Roman-style toga passed by, carrying a tray of fluted glasses full of sparkling pink Champaign. Christine took one of the glasses gratefully and drained it in a single gulp, welcoming the sweet bite of the alcohol to help clear her mind. She needed another way to get backstage, hopefully without having to go through the auditorium. With the gala opening tomorrow night, she should have known that there would be people working after hours to make the final touches for the production.

Replacing the empty glass on the tray, Christine made the decision that she would just have to be extra careful when looking out for the occasional stagehand; she did not have the time to waste trying to find an alternative route. She highly doubted that Erik would be co-mingling with the crowd. He might have a flair for the extravagant, but he had no love for large groups of people. Convinced that no one was watching her, Christine began to make her way back to the auditorium, but her efforts were quickly blocked when a young man wearing a bull mask materialized from the crowds, standing directly in her path. At first, Christine simply tried to ignore him, attempting to step around him as though he was not there, but he only moved to further bar her way. She sighed, trying to not let her frustration show. She had neither the time nor the patience to play games. "May I help you, monsieur?"

The man bowed to her, but there was nothing chivalrous about the look in his eyes. "I could not help but notice, mademoiselle, that you arrived without a gentleman escort. There, I see that there is no harm in asking your hand… for this dance."

"No, thank you, monsieur." Christine answered, perhaps a little too hastily. "I am actually on my way to meet someone right now, so if you'll excuse me…"

"Well, he can't be much of a gentleman, now, can he, making such a beautiful woman wait all by herself? I can keep you company until he arrives…" He took an advancing step towards her, one hand extended towards her, but before Christine could react another hand shot out of no where and seized the man by the wrist, twisting his arm at an awkward and painful angle.

"The lady said 'no.' I think it's time for you to move on, monsieur."

Christine gasped at the sound of her savior's voice, and when she spun around she found herself staring at a grinning skull mask, its own wearing a striking general's uniform made of blood-red velvet. Golden eyes glowed like embers from the shadowed depths of the mask. Although her elation threatened to overwhelm her, Christine forced herself to remain composed, laying a trembling hand on his arm. 'It's all right, Erik. He was just leaving. Weren't you, monsieur?"

Erik released his hold on the man's wrist, who pulled it back as though it were broken. At first, Christine worried that Erik had injured the man until he disappeared into the crowds without another word.

Despite the situations that forced her to come to the Opera House that evening, Christine could not help but smile brightly at the masked magician. When Erik at last turned to look at her, she found that his eyes were unreadable. He seemed neither surprised that she was there nor upset that she had broken her promise to him. He said not a word, but only offered his hand to her, which she took just as silently. Her heart fluttered like that of an overjoyed schoolgirl as he swept her onto the dance floor, joining seamlessly into the waltz. Once again, Christine felt all eyes in the Masque on her and Erik, and angel dancing with a devil. The skull mask was still chilling in its appearance, but it seemed to make him that much more enigmatic.

"What are you doing here, Christine?" Erik asked her softly, in almost a scolding tone. "I told you to wait for me until Nadir and I were ready to depart."

"I couldn't afford to wait any longer." Christine whispered back, refusing to be treated like a child. "My aunt made arrangements for me to married to a tallow merchant tomorrow morning! If I had continued to wait for you, then we would have been separated forever!"

"I would have found you, Christine. You know that."

"That's not the point! I couldn't bear the thought if going through with it! Erik, I want to leave Paris with you, tonight. I have everything I need here, we can leave any time. Just you, me, Nadir, and Ayesha. We can leave this horrid place forever!"

Erik stopped their dance, and the expression in his eyes turned inward and troubled. Christine felt cold dread begin to gather in her chest. "Erik? What's wrong?"

Erik hesitated a moment, as though he already regretted what it was he needed to say. The dread that Christine felt quickly turned into sickening anxiety. "Christine… I must speak to you. But not here. Follow me." Christine only nodded, allowing Erik to lead her from the dance floor and out of the foyer.

-x-x-x-

Giselle was fuming with red-hot and barely bridled fury as she watched her cousin being led away by the tall man dressed as the red death. The little wench! What in the name of God was she doing? It did not matter that Christine had been wearing a mask and costume when she arrived, Giselle had seen right through it. And it was not so much that Christine had to gall to arrive to the Masque so much as it was all the attention that was lavished upon her when she suddenly appeared, quite literally, out of no where! Giselle had never felt more infuriated in all her life. It was almost enough to crush the crystal glass of Champaign she held in her gloved hand.

"Mademoiselle."

Giselle swung around to face the voice that had just spoken to her, ready to unleash a verbal lashing to it owner simply because he was the first unfortunate enough to cross her path, but when her eyes locked eye with him she stopped cold. The man standing behind her was wearing nondescript dun-colored robes, but the mask he wore was horrific, a grotesque grinning head with three rows of teeth in its wide, grinning mouth and framed by a wild mane of wild, tangled hair. More terrifying than the mask, though, were the eyes behind the mask; hard, cruel, soulless eyes that turned Giselle's blood to ice. "Mademoiselle," the man behind the mask said again in a voice that was surprisingly warm despite his eyes, "what has upset such a beautiful woman such as yourself?"

At first, Giselle had no intention of telling this man anything, but then she felt the most curious sensation in the back of her mind; a strange tickling feeling coaxing the answer from her, a feeling that grew stronger the longer it took her to speak until it became uncomfortable. "Why does everyone pay attention to her?" Giselle snapped, the words pouring forth on their own account. "There's nothing special about her! She's not even pretty! And yet you would have thought that the Queen of England herself made a grand entrance tonight, the way she came strutting in like that!"

"Perhaps, mademoiselle, it is because of the company she keeps?" The stranger ventured softly.

"It's all because of that damned magician! The one she met in Persia! Ever since he appeared she feels as though she can do whatever she wants! You would not believe the way she sasses to me, and then shows up at the Masque to purposely steal all the attention! She's a nobody! It's just not fair!"

"Perhaps then, mademoiselle, I might offer a suggestion to seek a little revenge on your cousin? A little just dessert, as one might call it?"

Something in the back of Giselle's mind told her that she should not trust this man, that he was only full of venom and lies, but the idea of getting back at Christine was too great an opportunity to pass.

"I'm all ears, monsieur."


	22. Chapter Eighteen: The Darkest Night

Author's Note: I hope this chapter was worth the wait. It's not a happy chapter, but I had a blast writing it, and I'm fairly pleased with it despite how out of practice I feel. Of course, it's you as the readers who will determine that. Enjoy, guys! We only got two, maybe three chapters after this, and it means the world to me that you've stuck with me for this long!

**Chapter Eighteen**

**The Darkest Night**

Christine did not know why she was afraid. In her heart, she knew she had no reason to be afraid. She was with Erik, whom she knew would never do her any harm, and yet the whole situation felt wrong. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Although Christine still thought there was nothing worse than being totted off as the new bride of a tallow merchant, she began to doubt her decision by coming here. Her previous vision of Erik whisking her off into his arms into the starry night was gradually growing dimmer and further away.

Erik moved through the crowd of people as if they did not exist, the masked dancers parting around him like the tide around a stone. Christine followed reluctantly, because she felt as though she did not have any other choice, as though a giant, invisible hand was pushing her along and resistance was otherwise useless. They passed through the Opera House as though moving through a dream; Christine was only dimly aware of following Erik through the vast silence of the main stage and the maze of now-vacant backstage corridors, her mind buzzing with newborn anxiety and her blood sang in her ears. It was only the slight pressure of Erik's hand on her back that summoned her back to reality. Christine saw that they had paused before the tightly-coiled wrought iron staircase that would take them to the upper levels of the Opera House and eventually out to the roof. Whatever it was Erik needed to tell her, he wanted to make absolutely sure no one would be able to overhear them.

Christine looked up at Erik with unspoken question, but the look in his eyes told her she had no other option. With her heart lodged firmly in her throat, Christine began to climb their staircase, the slight reverberation under her feet the only indication that Erik was following her.

The night air had lost most of its stifling humidity by the time Christine stepped onto the roof of the Opera Populaire, and the formally cool breeze had picked up into a chill frantic wind, carrying with it the distant echo of thunder. Christine shivered in spite of herself, but it was only partially due to the cold. The slight motion did not go unnoticed to Erik, and only a heartbeat later Christine felt the warm weight of his coat settle over her shoulders, shielding her from the biting wind.

"Christine, you were limping."

Christine grimaced. In her effort to find Erik, she had forgotten about her twisted ankle from the fall from her bedroom window, but now it throbbed with renewed pain. Before she could even attempt to convince him it was nothing to worry about, Christine felt Erik gently yet firmly guide her to the ledge of the roof. She sat down on the low molded border at his unspoken command, her own words failing her as Erik knelt down before her, taking her injured foot in his hands. He slipped the shoe off, then began to gently massage her ankle, and with each ministration the pain became duller even as her own heart became heavier.

The silence was near unbearable. Down below, the sounds and music of the Masquerade continued to carry on, but it seemed very far away, like the memory of a fabulous dream that was now beyond Christine's reach. Unable to stand it any longer, Christine cleared her throat, but her voice still cracked horribly. "I don't suppose we could have gotten very far with my ankle like this." She struggled to keep her voice light and unassuming. Confronting Erik head-on about the subject would only test his temper and create more heartache than she could stand tonight.

Erik stiffened, his taloned hands ceasing in their ministrations. Christine held her breath, her stomach somersaulting. She saw his shoulders heave in a silent sigh before he stood up, turning away from her to look out over Paris. Christine rose to her feet as well, removing her mask and setting it down on the roof, barely taking notice that her ankle no longer hurt. "Erik? What's wrong?" This time she did not mask the apprehension in her voice. When he wouldn't answer, she finally said in a smaller voice, "We're not going to Paris." She did not make it a question.

Erik closed his eyes and Christine truly believed his regret. "Christine... There has been an unforeseen change in plans. Nadir and I now know for a fact that the Grand Vizier is here in Paris. The corpse in Opera House has told us that much. But we…Nadir and I…do not know if he knows we have found each other yet." He hesitated a moment, knowing that neither of them would like what he had to say next. "Therefore…it is only reasonable that Nadir and I travel on, alone, until the Vizier is no longer a threat to any of us."

The air in Christine's lungs left in a rush. She had expected him to say something like this, but hearing it voiced made it a hundred times more painful. A new emotion suddenly welled up inside of her, swift and unexpected; anger, building like a wave to drown out rationality and reason and bringing with it a terrible surge of selfishness. "And what about me, Erik?" Christine demanded, not caring how childish she must have sounded to his ears. "Am I to play the wife of a tallow merchant until you feel that it's safe to return? I would rather die than suffer that fate!" Erik actually winced under her assault, but Christine forced herself to ignore the small movement, to not feel the guilt. She felt that her anger was justified. She was tired of the broken and empty promises, of having her dreams built up only to have them dashed on the harsh rocks of reality. For just once, she wanted answers, she wanted certainty, and she would be damned if she let it pass her by again.

The look of pleading forgiveness in Erik's golden eyes had Christine nearly regretting her furious outburst, but before he could say anything something behind her suddenly caught his attention, and Christine suddenly found herself being pulled behind him, putting himself between her and the mystery intruder. She immediately forgot about her anger as gut-wrenching fear took its place, only to turn to icy dread when she saw it was not the Grand Vizier who had found them, but her cousin Giselle. What made it all the worse was the look on Giselle's face. It was not one of shock of finding Christine on the roof of the Opera Populaire with the masked magician of Persia, but one of cold, smug triumph. Words failed her, giving Giselle the advantage of speaking first.

"You might want to reconsider your options, Christine. Being the wife of a tallow merchant might not be such a horrid fate compared to what _he_ has in mind for you." Giselle nodded her head towards Erik, but would not lift her eyes to his masked face.

"What are you doing here, Giselle?" Christine demanded, coming out of her shock. "How did you know we were up here?" It was hard to keep her voice from shaking. The smile on her cousin's face told Christine that whatever Giselle had in mind, it was nothing but horrible.

"Oh…nothing much." Giselle cooed, her smile deepening. Thunder rumbled in the sky above them as the first cold raindrops began to fall. "I just came up here to tell you something." She suddenly tore her eyes away from Christine and forced herself to look at Erik, her face twisting into a horrible grimace, as though someone was trying to force her hand into a fire. "By the powers of the elements and the will of the cosmos, I bind thee to me!"

The hairs on the back of Christine's neck and the top of her head stood on end as the air crackled with power, the force of it a pressing weight on her shoulders. Erik went completely rigid beside her; she could feel his muscles tense under her fingers, his taloned hands clutching into fists as a sheen of sweat appeared on his exposed upper lip. "Erik?" Erik said nothing, but Christine could tell by the clench of his jaw that he was in a great deal of pain. She rounded on Giselle, the fire in her eyes causing her cousin to flinch. "You horrible hag! What did you do to him?"

For the space of a few heartbeats Giselle only gawked stupidly at them, as if she had not expected whatever she did to Erik would actually work. But her composure quickly returned to her, the same smug smirk returning to her features. "Just a little trick someone taught me. I believe you two know him. He says he's an old friend from Persia."

Christine felt fear seize her by her mid-section as the rain began to fall harder, plastering her hair to her head and her heavy costume dress to her body. "Giselle, how can you trust that awful man? He's dangerous! I would have hoped that even you weren't foolish enough to see that!"

"Don't speak to me about being a fool, Christine! I am not the one who was blindly enchanted by that devil you've fallen in love with! You! Magician!" Giselle snapped, rounding on Erik again. "I order you to show Christine the scroll!"

Erik growled deep in his throat. Blood dripped from between his fingers where his talons pierced his skin, mixing with the rain.

"By the power of the cosmos that bind you, I order you to show her!"

Christine could hear Erik's teeth grind together as he continued to resist Giselle's demands, watching in horror as blood began to trickle over his lower lip and down the sides of his face, his whole body shuddering as the force binding him tightened its hold. Unable to endure it any longer, Christine grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Erik, Erik please, don't fight it! Please, just show me! This isn't worth it!"

Erik only shook his head, the barest back-and-forth movement creating agony. Desperately, Christine reached up and grasped both sides of his face, feeling the warm stickiness of his blood that flowed from his ears. "Erik, listen to me! This isn't worth it! Please, just show me what ever it is she's telling you to! It can't be this bad!"

Erik met her gaze evenly, and through the pain he was enduring, Christine could hear his unspoken confession: _But it is._

"Show her, magician." Giselle ordered.

"For me." Christine implored.

The magical bonds slackened as Erik moved his arms to obey the command. One shaking hand dipped into his coat, withdrawing a tightly rolled scroll of ancient-looking parchment. At first Christine did not see what was so special about it until she saw the rain rolling off the scroll as though it were covered in wax. Erik flicked his wrist, sending the scroll flying into the air where it froze, hovering above their heads before unraveling itself with a flourish. As Christine watched, gold script began to flow across the parchment, glowing like flame.

"Read it." Giselle commanded.

Christine heard Erik take a trembling breath, his voice shaking as he spoke. "_If youth and beauty doth thou seek, 'tis the heart and soul of love doth thou reap_."

Christine blinked, confused. "I don't understand. What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my dear cousin, that in order to obtain beauty and be free of his wretched face, he must make a sacrifice of the one he loves. _You_."

"I don't believe you." Christine snapped back, even though she could not ignore the sickening sensation that crawled through her innards.

"What's there not to understand, Christine? The gentleman from Persia explained everything to me so I might save your life. Why else would you think _he_ would follow you all the way to Paris? Because he loved you?" Giselle laughed, a high, cold sound. "You're more foolish than I thought. Look at him, Christine! He's not even human! He probably doesn't have a soul, much less a heart! Face it, cousin; you're an end to a means."

Tears burned in Christine's eyes, flowing down her face in hot rivets against the cold rain. Anger boiled in her chest, but waves failed her during Giselle's verbal onslaught. She spun to face Erik, her numb hands clutching the front of her sodden coat. "Erik… Please, please Erik! Tell her none of that it true! Tell her that everything the Vizier told her is a lie!" But there was the Scroll of Eros, the very scroll Erik had gone to Persia for, hanging in the air above her, mocking her with its very presence. God, why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he denying Giselle's accusations?

Slowly, Christine released her hold on him.

"Erik?"

Erik did not respond, but only curled up into himself as his body convulsed with a new form of pain removed from the binding spell Giselle had put on him.

"Erik, please…!"

Erik's wings unfurled explosively from his back, tearing the coat of his costume and spraying Christine with second-hand raindrops. She only had time to utter a wordless cry of despair before he took flight, immediately swallowed by the rain-darkened night.

For several long, dragging moments, Christine was stunned into silence, her mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. Erik was gone. Gone. Swallowed by the dark night, and this time, Christine was certain that he did not intend to come back. Fury quickly replaced the crushing despair before it had the chance to overwhelm her. She rounded on Giselle with the same unbridled rage of an erupting volcano.

"_You!_" Christine spat at her cousin, snarling like a wildcat. Before she could pounce of Giselle and tear her limb from limb, the door leading to the roof they came through opened with a sudden bang, revealing a very disgruntled looking stagehand who looked revealed instead of surprised to find two young women standing on the roof in their masquerade costumes.

"Hey! You two!" He shouted over the hiss of the rain. "What are you doing up here, and in this weather no less? Your parents have the whole Opera House in an uproar looking for you, the both of you! Now I suggest that you should both get inside and out of the rain before you get in any more trouble than you already are!"

Giselle fled the scene immediately, taking the opportunity to escape from Christine's wrath. Christine did not follow right away, but continued to stand in the sheeting rain, letting it wash away her anger and her grief, allowing her to face her family with at least some dignity.

"Mademoiselle." The stagehand requested firmly. Christine had no other choice but follow, leaving the Opera House roof and following the man back to the masquerade on invisible strings.

Giselle had taken advantage of Christine's moment of composure to reach their family first, and judging by the smug look on her rain-stained face, she had already told her mother and father her account of the story. Christine did not flinch as she solidly met her aunt's furious gaze. While she knew that her aunt would never make a scene in such a prestigious social event, Christine had no fear of the wrath that awaited her when they returned to the townhouse. She had nothing left that they could take from her.

Aunt Celeste sniffed, straightening her spine as she looked from one sodden young woman to the other. "Well then, ladies, I think we've had enough fun for one evening. Come; the carriage awaits." Christine hid her eagerness to leave the ball, regardless of what was waiting for her at home, leaving the whispered rumors of the other masquerade guests behind her.

No one spoke to one another on the carriage ride home, which felt to take several hours to Christine. She only gazed mutely out the windows onto the streets darkened by the night and the rain. Francine sat beside her, trembling at the force that filled the cab while Giselle set in between her mother and father with the same un-flickering expression of triumph while her parents fixed Christine with identical tight-lipped stares. Christine ignored very last one of them, her mind focused on two things and two things alone; Erik, and where he was at that moment.

***

The wind and rain swirled endlessly around him, a vortex of dark madness that matched the tearing despair inside of him. He did not know where he was going, nor did he care. All he knew was that Christine was lost to him forever, and she at last saw him as the monster that he truly was. Lightening flared across the sky, and below him Erik could see a field of stark black and white geometric shapes; the outlines of a Paris cemetery. Erik folding his wings and descended swiftly, hoping to find at least some solace amongst those whose hearts also no longer beat.

Erik landed hard on the cold granite crypts, tearing his mask from his face. Agony tore threw him like an animal in its death throes, begging for mercy he did not deserve. His hands clutched at the stone until it cracked under his fingers before throwing back his head and howling out his pain, the sound lost in a peal of thunder, knowing no one would listen even if he wanted them to.

***

The carriage finally came to its final stop before the townhouse, but Christine had thrown open the door before the driver even had the chance to step down from his seat. The wet cobblestone was dangerously slick beneath Christine's slippers as she made a mad dash to the front door. The servants immediately scrambled for safety when Christine burst through the entrance, spraying them with water as she dashed for the staircase. She knew that she had a very little chance of escaping her aunt's house without a fight, but if they wanted to stop her, they would have to catch her first.

"Christine!" Aunt Celeste's voice tore through the foyer like the roar of a lioness, the rage and shame that had been pent up inside of her since the Opera House finally released. "Where in the name of God do you think you're going? I demand that you come down here at once and explain yourself!"

"Demand all you want, aunt, if it will make you feel better!" Christine shouted back as she climbed the stairs, leaving a spiteful trail of water on the expensive rug that covered the steps. "Or, better yet, ask your daughter for an account since you probably won't believe me anyway! I'm sure she's itching like a whore to tell you if she hasn't done so already!"

"You horrid girl!" Her uncle bellowed up at her as his wife and daughters recoiled in shock. "I will not tolerate this behavior wile you live under my roof!"

"Since I won't be under your roof much longer, you won't have to, uncle!"

"You ungrateful little urchin!" Giselle stepped forward as she joined the battle. "That monster was getting ready to cut out your heart and eat it had I not been there! You should be thanking me for saving your life!"

Christine came to an abrupt stop on the stairs before she rounded on Giselle, unaware of nothing else but the purest rage she felt for her oldest cousin. She flew down the stairs faster than she had climbed them, closing in on Giselle before the blonde woman had any hope to react. The edge of Christine's knuckles caught the curve of Giselle's pretty jaw and sent her, quite literally, flying out of her slippers and into her equally flabbergasted family. Christine's hand throbbed, but it was dull and far away compared to the wrath that filled every cell of her being. When she spoke, she had to form the words around her heavy breathing. The calmness in her tone surprised even her.

"If Erik truly did come to Paris to eat my heart in exchange for beauty, then he would have done so by now. He had more than his fair share of chances to do so with all the time we spent together. But do you know why he did not – _would_ not – do it? It's because the love we have for each other is something you can never possibly understand. It is a love that you will never experience, Giselle, even if you live to become old and feeble. That's because you are a spoiled, selfish, self-absorbed cow who only loves herself, so you could never hope of seeing what is good and kind in other people. I don't know why Erik had the scroll on him, but he knows that I love him more than anything else in this life, mask or no mask! I truly pity you, cousin, knowing that you will never know the love that I do, but I also rejoice knowing you can never do anything to reserve it."

Christine had expected swift and equally terrible retaliation from her family, but her family only stood before her, motionless, stunned into shocked silence by her outburst. She wasted no time while the opportunity still presented itself, and she turned away to tear up the stairs again, dashing to her room and locking the door behind her in case they came to their senses too quickly. Ayesha stood on her bed, her fur standing up along her arched spine.

"Christine! What happened down there? I heard all that awful shouting!"

"We are leaving, Ayesha. Tonight." Christine said abruptly as she worked to free herself from her heavy, soaking dress. She did not question why Ayesha was in her room in the first place. Perhaps Nadir had sent her, sensing something had gone amiss at the masquerade.

"What's wrong? Where's Erik?"

Christine hesitated only for a second. "I don't know. But we're going to find him. Before something else does." Christine let the once beautiful gown fall into a shapeless mess on the floor and left it there as she pulled on a steadier traveling dress made of wool. She only briefly recalled that her provisions were still hidden in the Opera House dressing room, but that was not important at that time. They could always return and get it later. Right now she had to focus on getting out of the house before her family came after her and attempted to keep her from leaving. No matter if they did. She could always climb out the window if it came down to it.

Christine threw a heavy cloak over her shoulders, pulling the hood up over her head. "Ayesha, let's go." The cat leapt gracefully from her bed and onto her shoulders as Christine swept from her room without a backgrounds glance.

Her family was still huddled in the foyer when Christine emerged on the landing. Her aunt was fussing over Giselle and the swelling bruise on her face while Francine paced back and forth, emitting little choking, sobbing sounds amongst the clicking of her heels. All attention was turned back to Christine as she descended the stairs, taking them two at a time. Aunt Celeste moved protectively before her daughter as if she half-expected Christine to attack her again, but her eyes would not leave the slinky Siamese cat wrapped around Christine's shoulders.

"Christine, how did that filthy animal get into my house?"

Christine did not answer, keeping her head high as she made her way to the front door, stopping only when her uncle stepped into her path.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago: leaving."

"I don't think so. Never in my life have I ever met anyone so ungrateful to the charity shown to them! Your aunt and I gave you everything when we could have very well have left you on the streets, and _this _is how you repay us? You will account for your disreputable behavior tonight, or so help me…"

Her uncle never had the chance to finish his threat before the door behind him exploded off its hinges, the heavy wood slamming against her uncle's back and pinning him to the floor. Celeste screamed as clutched her daughters to her as an icy cold wind howled through the foyer, dragging the storm in with it as it extinguished all the lamps, upturning and shattering furniture and decor and plunged the house into absolute darkness. Ayesha stood from Christine's shoulder, hissing and spitting as if possessed, but fear had rooted Christine to the floor, throwing her heart into her mouth and robbing the breath from her lungs.

Lightening flared, filling the world with its harsh white light, revealing the silhouetted shadow of a monster that filled the empty front door. Ayesha leapt off Christine's shoulder, hurtling herself at that terrible form only to have the creature catch her effortlessly in one hand before flinging her into an ornate mirror with a flick of its wrist, shattering the silvery face. Ayesha fell to a boneless mass to the floor amongst a rain of glittering glass.

Christine cried out wordlessly for her fallen friend, the sound cut off abruptly as a hand – an unbearably cold and scaly hand – closed over her mouth, cruelly twisting her face around so she was looking up at her captor. Christine could not suppress her whimper as she stared into the empty eyes of a hideously grinning chimera mask.

***

"Fly away now, little bird." The man behind the mask growled, and darkness consumed her completely.

Through the driving rain, the howling wind and the rumble of thunder, Erik's eyes snapped open as he swung his head back towards the city. Something was wrong. Horribly wrong.

_Christine_.

Erik launched himself off the crypt he was perched on, catching the next gust of wind and flying back to Paris as fast as his wings could carry him.


End file.
